Breath and Shadow
by sunshineditty
Summary: Stiles' struggle to find his place as he moves deeper into the shadowy underworld of Beacon Hills (spoilers for Season 3 episodes)
1. Impermanency

"Derek, why do you have a blow torch?"

The Alpha just looked at him and Stiles chuckled nervously. "Okay, I guess I'll just use my imagination." His dark brows furrow for a moment before he looks back at the older man. "Oh geez dude, that's gross!"

"Stiles."

One word but laced with enough growly emotion for the teen to understand _shut up before I rip your throat out with my teeth_ and _why do I put up with you?_

Scott looked between the two and cocked his head as if trying to understand the subtext of their conversation. Stiles shook himself free of the hazel-blue-green gaze and turned to his best friend.

"Are you sure, Scott? I mean, he's going to use a freaking _blowtorch _on you. It was bad enough with the tattooing needle."

Okay, bad for Stiles and not Scott, but still. A _freaking blowtorch!_

"Open wound," Scott intoned quietly, his brown eyes wet with the emotions roused by his speech about Allison.

Stiles sighed with resignation and clamped his hands down around Scott's broad shoulders. They'd spent time hanging out at the beginning of the summer, then Scott started disappearing again, and Stiles had thought it was the beta's ex-girlfriend until one day he ran into Melissa and she waxed poetically about Scott's renewed dedication to the upcoming Junior year. Stiles still felt lonely without his best friend but couldn't begrudge him time spent studying. Boredom usually led to Stiles getting into trouble, but without his usual compadre of terror, he'd found himself at Deaton's regularly, though never when Scott was working. He was honing his _believing_ craft, as absurd as he still found it sometimes. The vet - who was clearly more than just a mere animal doctor no matter what the man said - had him focusing his will on inanimate objects with his entire concentration. At first it was hard for Stiles to keep focused on one object without scattering his mind into a million different directions until one day he stared at this weird looking statue for over three hours, though it only felt like minutes to him.

"Ready?"

"Do it."

"Not you, Scott. Are you ready, Stiles?"

Derek raised a dark brow and Stiles nodded hesitantly.

The smell of burning flesh was oddly sweet, which made Stiles blanch the minute he thought it. To avoid thinking about what exactly was happening, and to keep Scott in the seat where he was starting to change, Stiles narrowed his attention to just one thing: Scott's tattoo, the two simple bands wrapped around his upper arm. For Stiles, however, it wasn't just about Allison and the ruptured relationship with her, but also a symbol of the cyclical nature of his friendship with Scott. Stiles hadn't fully supported the idea to begin with, and even now thought it was silly to tattoo such a permanent mark for such an impermanent reason, but he did as he always would and stood by (or behind really) Scott regardless of his own personal feelings.

"Stiles! Stiles! Let go of him!"

The urgency in Derek's voice cut through the white noise in Stiles' head and he snapped back to the moment.

"Wha-?" His voice was scratchy as if he'd been screaming.

"You've done enough."

Stiles looked down and only saw Scott slumped backward, head lolling on the chair passed out. He didn't understand what Derek meant at first until he saw gold twining around Scott's upper arm, highlighting the thick black bands seared into the flesh.

"What did you do this summer?"

There was dark suspicion mixed with incredulity and Stiles stifled a giggle as he was suddenly reminded of the first day of fourth grade when they were told to stand up at the front of the class to tell everyone their favorite memory about how they spent their summer.

"Uh, you know, video games, Netflix, Wiki. The usual."

"_That," _Derek pointed at the fading glow, " -is _not_ "usual" with you."

Red eyes and a mouthful of large teeth convinced Stiles to speak even though Derek never moved. Apparently he had his own Pavlovian responses.

"Dr. Deaton had me working on my Sparkitude through focus." Stiles shrugged, hands tucked into the pockets of his favorite slouchy jeans. "I was just thinking about how much Scott wanted this stupid thing."

"And the magic flowing from _your _hand?"

"Dude, I dunno! Last time I was at Deaton's office, he gave me a paintbrush and some watercolors to use to practice some sigils from this weird animal statue thing."

And he was being truthful. There was nothing magical about _what_ he did - at least he didn't think so. Maybe he should've questioned the vet a little closer about what was in the paint he used. Of course, Deaton never said for him to use it _on_ himself, but he didn't have any paper and it just seemed simpler. When he'd returned for his next lesson and replicated the marks perfectly, he hadn't thought to mention his skin was the canvas he practiced on.

"It's gone," Derek breathed, his nostrils flared open as if he were scenting. And he _was_, Stiles realized, when the Alpha leaned forward and brushed his nose against Scott's arm and then started to push up Stiles' long sleeve plaid over shirt. He shifted away from the touch, but stilled when a clawed hand gently grasped his wrist. The threat was subtle and completely unnecessary in Stiles' humble opinion, even as he gracelessly submitted to the inspection, stripping his shirt off so Derek could look at him.

The gold had faded from Scott's skin, yet Stiles' bared arms were gilded with random squiggles until he looked a little deeper and saw the three sigil patterns he was taught last week. The glow remained for another minute, seemingly pulsing to Stiles' heart beat, before finally vanishing.

"Yeah, that's normal for you."

Derek's deadpan expression was at complete odds with the turmoil evident in his shaky voice, though Stiles didn't know him well enough to decipher exactly what the wolf was suppressing.

"It's still just me, you know, Stiles Stilinski, awesomest Robin to ever Robin."

"If you're a threat to my pack -"

"Seriously? That's what you're going with? Gee-zus, Derek! I'm not out to harm your stupid packmates. You've done enough of it on your own s'oz not like you need _my_ help mucking it up."

Stiles winced as soon as the words were out, especially when Derek towered over him and dragged him out from behind Scott. The boarded window was just as painful as one could expect with a two-by-four lodged into a rib or a heavy wolf leaning against the soreness to make a point.

"Too soon?"

"You _need _to stay out of this, and Scott too. The pack of Alphas are out for blood and they won't care who's collateral damage. You thought Peter was bad? Think of him at his worst and then add four more. Maybe _then_ you'll understand why you and your punk-ass beta friend need to stand clear of this. Stop fiddling with forces beyond your comprehension."

Regardless of what Derek might think, Stiles hadn't gone into training with Deaton because of the werewolves – okay not the _only_ reason. He'd wanted to learn more, to feel the same sense of accomplishment as the night outside the nightclub when he completed the circle with his will; it was hard being an outcast of the outcasts, especially when Scott's place beside him felt vacant of late. It might make him more Sith than Jedi, but Stiles _liked_ the feeling of being successful in his field of interest, even if the most it amounted to was a few parlor tricks consisting of using magic dust and sealing tattoos into werewolf flesh.

"He'll be waking soon and I want you two to leave without looking back once. There is a time and a place for heroics and right now isn't one of those times."

Derek stepped back, the world readjusting to normal perimeters, and Stiles grimaced and aborted several different comments, honestly surprised at his own tact. Ultimately, this wasn't Derek's decision because he wasn't either Stiles' or Scott's Alpha, but he had enough self-preservation to resist telling him that. It was interesting, however, that Derek referred to Scott as a "Beta" when a few months ago he was courting him like he was another Alpha. Had something changed in the past few months to demote Scott from leading Team Human with Wolvish Tendencies (their title was a work in progress)?

A mystery he'd have to tackle another time because Scott sat up with a gasp. "It worked!"

* * *

**A/N: First off - why the heck does Derek carry around a portable blow torch? That haunted me for the rest of the episode, which is a funny thing to focus on, but hey that's my mind for you. The blow torch is actually what sparked (heh heh) this little story. And secondly, Tyler Posey is not the best (or the worst) TV actor I've ever seen, and some of his acting on the show is truly train wreck about to happen, but I admit his speech about his tattoo was very sincere, which leads me to believe there is a grain of truth written into the script. I give him a solid B minus for the episode (it might've been higher, but the whole reading "White Fang" while doing one-armed pull ups was just lame).**


	2. Risk Is More Than a Board Game

"What the f-" Stiles whisper-shouted, remembering to lower his voice at the last second because his father had stumbled to bed less than an hour ago and he didn't want to disturb the overworked man.

He'd gone downstairs to grab a drink and came back into his room to find Derek lounging on his bed like he owned it. The soda unfortunately didn't survive Stiles' surprised flailing and spilled all over his shirt. He glared at the smirking Alpha before grabbing a towel from the top of his dirty laundry pile. If it were anyone else, Stiles would just strip off the wet shirt and change, but he refused to be vulnerable around the wolf anymore than he already was.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I told you we had to talk later. This is later."

"Uh, when did we agree to that?"

Derek stared. "Did you really think we wouldn't talk about it?"

Stiles slipped into his computer chair and swiveled around to face the Alpha. He wanted to tell him to get off his bed, but Stiles knew this was a territory thing and refused to play into Derek's agenda. Regardless of how human Stiles was, Derek's wolf seemed to enjoy playing wolfish games with him, or at least Stiles thought so since he started learning more lore under Deaton's tutelage and looked at Derek's actions under new light. Of course wolfish games weren't as light-hearted as it sounded and there were serious consequences for any missteps he made. While the two Beacon Hills packs weren't actively hostile after the events of four months ago, there was also a strong sense of distrust between Scott and Derek, though this time it was Derek feeling it after Scott set him up. Stiles was angry with Scott - and if he was truthful with himself still a little angry - but was too loyal to apologize to Derek even if he thought Scott played dirty pool.

"So, you wanna tell me more about this pack of Alphas? Or the fact you lied to Scott about not knowing what the marks on Allison's and Lydia's wrists meant?"

The arch questions wiped the smirk off Derek's face, and Stiles enjoyed the awkward silence more than he probably should.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I didn't lie."

"Semantics, Derek! I could tell you knew _something_ about it."

Derek's "Look, I don't want the girls involved any more than they already are," held a ring of truth and Stiles nodded reluctantly. He thought the Alpha was dumb to think just because he hadn't shared his info the girls would let it go - _hello_ these _were_ the same girls who resurrected his dead uncle and shot thirty arrows into him and his pack as Derek so succinctly pointed out - but he was willing to let sleeping dogs lie for now. After all, a little maiming was always fun to watch from a safe distance, and Derek would hopefully learn a valuable lesson about ignoring the female half of Team Human.

"Stiles, I didn't call upon you guy just because I don't think you can handle it, which honestly I don't think you can, but also because I don't want to get any more wolves involved."

Stiles thought about pointing out he really wasn't a wolf, but figured it wasn't the point Derek was trying to make. Despite being a shitty Alpha, and he really kind of was, Derek was also being completely earnest. And honest to a point. There was obviously more at play here and Stiles had the bad feeling he would be pulled into this whether the older man wanted him to or not.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," the teen equivocated when the silence stretched further than felt comfortable. Derek's stubbled jaw worked back and forth as if he were chewing on something - words, ideas, remains of a bunny rabbit? - then he settled further into Stiles' comfy pillow top, his grey henly and jean-clad body looking odd against the brand new red comforter.

"Did you talk to Dr. Deaton after you and Scott left the house?"

"Yes...no..."

"So, no."

"No."

"Why not?"

Stiles shrugged, his shirt sliding wetly against his chest. He scrunched down further into the chair picking at a loose thread in his comfy pajama pants.

"I didn't think it was important."

"Riiight, so you suddenly flinging sparkly fairy dust is a good thing."

"Why isn't it?" And he was serious. What was so wrong with Stiles having a little power? He wasn't able to keep up physically with the wolves, and his planning skills weren't called into use often, so why not channel magic if he could? He needed to contribute something, otherwise he wouldn't be any better than Greenburg standing on the sidelines with a thumb up his ass.

"This is Beacon Hills. When is something new a _good_ thing?"

"Touche." Stiles frowned down at his innocuous looking hands and wished he had a rebuttal, but it was the truth. Dr. Deaton had said he was a Spark and he could turn action into truth through the strength of his will, but nothing was said about glowing skin marks. "And why are you all gung-ho about me talking to our friendly spooky vet? You seemed really pissed at him the last time you saw him."

There was dead silence again then,"You're not me and he can help you." Another beat of quiet. "And uh, well..." Derek sounded uncharacteristically hesitant, which immediately brought Stiles' attention back to the older man's face. He looked unsettled, his brows furrowed in contemplation as he sought the right words. "Look, I don't want you or Scott being dragged into this, but I need Scott's help. With Isaac."

"And you want me to talk him into helping you. Call him yourself."

"I don't have his number."

"It hasn't changed, dude."

"You call him."

"No, you. You're the one who wants him to do something."

Stiles wasn't bitter about playing secretary, not even a little. It wasn't like he wanted to help Derek out with his problems, though frankly it would be better for everyone if both he and Scott were in the loop from the beginning instead of being roped into it after it blew up in the Alpha's face...which it would because the guy had poor planning and execution skills (see: biting outcast teenagers).

"Look Stiles, I need to find Erica and Boyd, and only Isaac knows where they are. Peter already tried to finesse his memories, but it was too jumbled. I don't know what else to do."

It was a genuine plea for help, and not for himself but for his packmates. Maybe Derek was getting better at this whole leader thing - even if it took him four months to figure out he was in over his head.

_Wait. Peter?_

"Wait, Peter? What exactly did he do?"

"Unimportant now since it didn't work. You will convince Scott to help." Derek slid off the bed and loomed over Stiles, as if the sheer bulk of his presence would overwhelm him. Apparently he was over the whole "I'm the Alpha," schtick and going back to the tried and true intimidation track. He didn't move and stared right back into red eyes. A lot had happened since the last time Derek tried this, and while there was still a swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach, he was made of sterner stuff.

"Fine." _Way to stay strong Stiles_. "On one condition." On the other hand, it was safer to be standing by Derek's side when things went sideways. And they always went sideways with werewolves involved.

The same self-satisfied smirk from earlier reappeared on Derek's lips, revealing his cute bunny front teeth.

"You can come too."

"Gee thanks, but no that's not the condition." Stiles drew in a deep breath. "My oldest friend in Beacon Hills went missing from her party the other night; at first I thought she just took off because the last time I saw her she was pretty trashed, but a missing person's report was filed by her family so its definitely not something innocent. I want you to go back to the scene of the crime and find out if you can smell anything, I dunno, _hinky_."

"I'm not a bloodhound, Stiles."

"I'm not saying you are, just you have the skills of one. It's my condition to getting Scott to help you without going through the whole "I just wanna be a _real_ boy" routine."

His help with the younger wolf was really needed, and they both knew it. Scott was dealing with his "condition" better now, especially with his mom in on the secret, but it wouldn't take much to throw him back to the petulant emo teen of last year.

"Fine, but I go alone."

"Is it possible the Alphas took her?"

Derek shrugged, his Henley pulling tight across his shoulders. "It _is_ easier to turn teens than any other age because their bodies haven't finished forming."

"As shown by Exhibit A Erica, Exhibit B Boyd, and Exhibit C Isaac, Your Honor."

"But I doubt they took her, Stiles. That's not what they want."

"What exactly _do _they want then, Derek? Seems to me the last time we had an Alpha running around wild, he started biting indiscriminately."

"Ha. Ha. I can't tell you why they're here."

"Can't or _won't?"_

"Guess you can kill two birds with one stone: we'll see you at Dr. Deaton's so we find out where Erica and Boyd are being held and then you can tell him what happened the other night."

"Way to _subtly_ change the subject."

"Talk to Scott, I'm sure you know how to make it seem like _his_ idea."

"Joy."

"Always is working with you," Derek snarked before blurring across the room and out the window in the time it took Stiles to stand.

"Showoff."

The howl drifting back sounded suspiciously like wolfish laughter, but Stiles ignored it in favor of slamming his window shut.

* * *

**A/N: To fully understand this chapter, you needed to have seen 3x02 "Chaos Rising" - I sort of manipulated the timeline so Derek and Stiles had their conversation proceeding Stiles' and Scott's class with Finstock and the conversation the boys have walking down the hallway. Also, since Stiles has a history of spying on his dad's work, I had him aware of Heather's disappearance prior to his dad showing up at school. His reaction to the Sheriff's news struck me as odd, as did his comment later about talking to Derek about biting teens, so I figured Stiles already believed her disappearance wasn't normal and kept quiet because he thought it was supernatural in origin, which meant he couldn't talk to authorities about it.  
**


	3. Risk Part II

**A/N: ***SPOILER ALERT *** This chapter has dialogue lifted directly from the episode intermixed with Stiles' inner ruminations. I truncated some of the dialogue for brevity's sake as it wasn't exactly my intention to use all of it.**

* * *

Isaac was beautiful in half-death, his pale skin tinged slightly blue and almost luminous against the ice and water. Stiles felt the thickness of his bones beneath his hands and was suddenly aware of both the strength and delicacy inherent in the wolf; he was at their mercy now, lingering in the state Dr. Deaton swore was necessary for the memory retrograde exercise, yet he was still a creature with preternatural senses who could just as easily claw their faces off. When he'd arched up out of the water, eyes of beta and mouth of fangs, Stiles had felt an intense pulse of attraction for the curly-headed orphan, a feeling he'd never experienced before. He was grateful for the metal tub hiding his lower body from view because it would've been incredibly humiliating to explain the large bulge pressing against the baggy crotch of his jeans. While Stiles often ruminated about the attractiveness of both girls and boys, this felt oddly wrong. Almost as if his body was betraying him in a moment not of his choosing; true he was sixteen and could get wood at the first brush of the wind, but he didn't think that explained it.

"Now remember only I talk to him, too many voices will confuse him and draw him out."

Stiles stared at Deaton in growing consternation. He didn't know what he had expected when he allowed Scott to "talk" him into visiting the vet, but this wasn't it. It was important to find Erica and Boyd, but Isaac was important too and the pup needed protection just as much as his missing packmates.

"Isaac. Can you hear me?"

"Yes...I can hear you."

Stiles ran his hands up and down the teen's calves, disregarding the icy touch of the water lapping at his skin. He knew Isaac needed touch to ground him in the here and now, though Isaac appeared completely out of it. Stiles knew better, could feel a thrumming consciousness seething beneath the human facade, and realized with a touch of wonder he was sensing the wolf.

"This is Dr. Deaton, I would like to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to ask you about the night you found Erica and Boyd."

Stiles' eyes flickered towards the vet then up towards the small window near the top of the wall where moonlight glistened against the wet pane and lightning cracked across the sky. A crawling sensation started in Stiles' fingers and spread upwards, a fiery rush crawling through his veins towards his shoulders before plunging down towards his chest and stomach. He tried not to squirm obviously at the alien feeling, determined not to lose contact with Isaac. Something, a sense he didn't fully understand, warned him not to lose contact with the wolf at all. Since he wasn't exactly listening to a sentient being, so much as instinct, he didn't know if there was an _or else_ attached to it, but figured there usually was. The fiery feeling eased once it reached his groin and Stiles nearly groaned in relief, completely missing whatever Derek and Scott were saying. In fact, Scott shouldn't be here, shouldn't be near the defenseless wolf; why was Derek allowing a strange Alpha near an injured packmate? Stiles stiffened with apprehension - what if Scott somehow managed to overpower Derek and stole Isaac away? Dizzying panic began spreading through Stiles at the thought and he yearned to thrust himself between the two wolves but it would require him to let go of Isaac which was the only thing keeping him in his place.

Apparently he moved once too often because Deaton flicked an annoyed grimace at him though his voice never altered from its soothing cadence.

"I want you to remember it for me in as vivid detail as possible, like you're actually there again."

"No, I don't want to do that...I don't want to do that. I don't want to do that."

Isaac shifted beneath the hands holding him down though he was clearly struggling against remembering and not them. Stiles made a soothing sound in the back of his throat even as he glared at Derek for letting this continue. It was important for them to find the others, but at the expense of this one? Of this healthy breathing wolf who could be felt and touched while the others were distant and receding memories? It galled him what a waste this was - more wolves could be made if Derek really needed to fill his pack again, though hopefully this time with an eye towards breeding instead of war. War just took and took and took, leaving destruction in its wake, an uneven balance to Life since Death was eternal while Life was fleeting.

"Just relax, they're just memories, You can't be hurt by a memory."

Stiles wanted to beg to differ since it was clear memories _could_ hurt and this wolf knew more than most how dangerous remembering could be. The lights flickered in time to Stiles growing ire as he saw how badly this session was going, but he couldn't just leave Isaac in such a state, and tightened his hands until it felt like his palms were fusing with the wolf's skin. Both settled as the contact, and Isaac sunk deeper into the water before continuing answering Dr. Deaton's absurd questions.

Isaac's voice was thready as he recounted his adventures and the snatches of conversation he overheard, his eyes open as he blindly stared at something only he could see. His body was knotting up in anxiety again the more he talked and Stiles wanted to shove the interfering doctor aside so he could dive into the water and pull Isaac into a comforting hug.

Suddenly his hands were empty as the young beta sat up with a pained gasp, voice strangled with fear as he whispered over and over, "They're here! They're here!"

"It's alright, just tell us where they are."

"They see me! They found me! They're here!"

Stiles wanted to scream with Isaac, his veins burning as the wolf thrashed again and again, too caught in his terror to comprehend reality from memory. _Alpha, save him! Save him from himself! We'll lose him if he stays caught in witch magic!_

Derek finally brushed Deaton aside with an angry "This isn't working," and demanded immediate submission and obedience to his Will. "Isaac where are they? Tell me where you are. Isaac, _where are you?"_

The witch doctor tried to interfere again, but the Alpha _commanded_ his beta to speak: "Isaac where are you, what did you see?"

"It's a vault, a bank vault!"

The lights went out in a pop as a black miasma seeped out of Isaac's pores, obvious remenants of the spell binding the wolf's memories. Whomever had placed it on Isaac hadn't had enough time to anchor the magic deeper into his mind otherwise it wouldn't have broken beneath the weight of Derek's Will. A collective pack of Alphas versus the strength of one was no contest, especially coupled with a witch worker. Stiles shuddered to wonder what would've happened had Isaac not escaped their clutches when he did; he was already a white-knuckle clench away from full-blown Damaged Peter Who Would Be Alpha psychosis as it was without this added strain.

"I saw it, I saw the name. It's Beacon Hills First National Bank!"

Seething resentment wended its way through Stiles as Scott helped the now conscious wolf from the tub, water dripping down the long lean lines of his body. Only Derek and Stiles should see the wolf so vulnerable.

Any sense of accomplishment for remembering was destroyed the moment Isaac became aware of the muted feelings of those surrounding him. It was a mark of an abusive child to be so aware of the shifting mood despite his recent traumatic experience. Preening pride pushed the resentment out when Isaac automatically turned to Stiles for clarification; he didn't know why the beta chose him over Derek, but it was a damn sight better than Scott. And don't think Stiles would forget any time soon how Isaac had grabbed at Scott's arm during one of his convulsions. Clearly something had to be done to make sure those two weren't alone together any time soon.

"What?"

"You don't remember what you said right before you came out of it do you?

"No."

"Ah you said when they captured you that the dragged you into a room with a body."

Isaac might be emotionally retarded at times, but it couldn't be said he wasn't quick on the uptake. Realization and the faint glimmer of his returning memories flashed across his face even as he rejected its truth like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. And as always it was up to Stiles to smash the comforting illusion in favor of brutal truth. He had done it for Scott and he could do nothing less for Isaac.

"What body?"

"Erica. You said it was Erica."

Though Derek flinched at Stiles' words, it was obviously not unexpected news. And why should it be? An Alpha's power was taken from the pack and he must've felt the loosening of the bonds when she died even if he tried to fool himself into thinking it wasn't anything that permanent. There was hope, however, as Boyd still lived even as Stiles questioned the whys and wherefores of the whole situation in the confines of his own mind. They'd shown enough pack business to the outsiders without baring the lack of trust between him and Derek, so he resolved to find a quiet moment to speak to the Alpha away from the others. It was irritating how much Derek played close to the vest. If only he had come to him sooner for help they wouldn't be playing catch up and trying to figure out what exactly kept the Alphas busy for the past three moons.

Isaac stirred against his side, the icy clench of almost death fading beneath the acclerated healing of his wereolf biology,and Stiles relished the returned heat. Once this was all over he was going to institute a policy of puppy piles with him in the middle so he could feel his wolves all around him. He smiled brightly at the beta, ignoring the confused look he was given in return.

"Is it weird to you that Scott's the voice of reason here?"

Isaac's conversational nudge woke Stiles from the mini-dream he was having, and he tuned back into the conversation flowing around him just in time to add his two bits about finding the information on the bank vault. Derek should never be in charge of planning anything as his role was being the brute force. Stiles was reaching out to pat Derek's arm in a comforting manner when he realized Deaton's eyes were trained on him; for once the vet's face wasn't arranged in its usual Zen-like placidity, but folded into a considering frown.

"Mr. Stilinski I wanted to ask you something before you leave."

Derek flicked an eyebrow at Stiles in a meaningful manner, clearly indicating this was the moment to tell Deaton about his recent experience with Scott, but Stiles ignored him in favor of telling his best friend to meet him at his house in an hour so they could research the information. Within moments the room was cleared and Stiles settled back against the metal table he'd perched on with Isaac.

"So, what's up Dr. D?"

"You tell me, Stiles. I've been observing you and you seem a little...off."

"Off?" Stiles lifted his arm and sniffed his armpits. "I guess I do smell a little rank if even you can smell me from there."

Deaton merely stared at him with folded hands across his stomach like a much skinnier Buddha. It was similar to the Sheriff's glare, a patented crook-buster. One silence filled staring session and criminals were _happy_ to spill the beans on any number of crimes just to make him stop. It didn't work on Stiles, of course, after being exposed to it for most of his life, but this time he had nothing to confess to either his father or his vet. Well, not _his_ vet since he didn't have any animals.

"Stiles."

"Dr. Deaton."

"You were very protective of Isaac tonight."

Confusion and defensiveness rose in Stiles and his voice came out a little sharper than intended. "He was _half-dead_ ! I mean, he doesn't have any real folks now, so someone's gotta watch out for him."

"Interesting you didn't think Derek would do it."

"Of course Derek watches out for him! He just needed some extra help."

"So you're close to Derek and Isaac then? I mean, I know you and Scott haven't spent as much time together as usual."

"Scott's been really busy -"

"I don't really care about Scott right now, Stiles. I'm more interested in your connection to the Hale Pack."

There was a disturbing undertone to the vet's words that set Stiles' nonexistent hackles to rising. "What do you mean _my_ connection to the Hale Pack?"

"Why are you answering a question with a question?"

"Why are you?"

Deaton drew in a deep breath and let it out with an irritated grunt. "Look, tonight you exhibited unexpected behavior even for you. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a pack-mate by the way you reacted to Isaac's distress."

_I am_ _you arrogant fool!_

But wait.

Stiles really wasn't.

In fact, this was the first time he'd seen Isaac since school let out in May. He knew the beta had spent time with Scott at different times over the summer, but hadn't come near Stiles at all. His summer vaction was completely bereft of any wolves outside of Scott, though now it was clear as to why. And he told Deaton as much.

"Interesting."

"You know, when you say it like that, you might as well stroke your chin in a thoughtful manner. You know, for the full Evil Supervillian effect."

"Mr. Stilinski," Deaton began, obviously at the end of his proverbial rope. "Has anything strange happened to you in the past few days? Something out of the ordinary?"

"You mean, besides being accosted by strange wolves in the street and made to chant beneath the new moon while completely naked?"

"Yes, beside that."

He opened his mouth to confess about the strange tattoo experience, but instead just said, "Nope."

Stiles ran a hand through his newly grown hair, still weirded out by the sensation. His usual tradition of shaving his head a week before school started hadn't happened when Scott failed to show up. He could've used the clippers himself, but he'd been too angry to do it without causing possible harm. He'd forgiven Scott later when his friend called to apologize because it was incredibly hard _not_ to and had decided this year if Scott could be different than so could he.

"Given the events that have transpired, I think we should put your lessons on hold for now."

"I thought you said it was incredibly dangerous for a Spark to go without training?" Indignation and a cold sense of abandonment canceled out any lingering feelings of guilt for not being completely honest. "Are you saying you're ditching me?"

Deaton shook his head and stood up as he started clearing up the detrius of the night's events. "You're a good student, Stiles -"

"Wait," Stiles said incredously, interrupting him. "Are you breaking up with me? Are you about to give me the whole _it's not you, it's me_ speech?"

"If you let me finish-" the vet waited, then continued. "- you have a strong will and a definite aptitude for this, but I think it's better if you stay away from magic for the time being. Just until the we discover the reason the Alphas are in town."

Stiles fidgeted with a piece of string lying on the table beside him as he contemplated Deaton's words. It made sense to stay under the radar to hide from a pack of killers except something deep inside balked at walking away when those he cared about needed him the most. There was an imbalance in Beacon Hills, as if the murder of the Hale Pack years ago had stirred a great evil just now manifesting itself. Peter's death and resurrection, Jackson's death, resurrection, and transformation were symptoms of a larger problem, a pattern that was slowly coalescing in Stiles' hyperaware mind. He now realized his summer was the lull in the storm and the distant thunder was heralding that the full strength was on the horizon.

"Do you think Isaac's amnesia was natural, a result of his trauma? Or do you think the Alphas used magic on _him?"_

Deaton had superior control over his facial features, but with his back to Stiles, he didn't think to hide the subtle tensing of his shoulders. A year ago Stiles would've missed the small clue, and even this past month he might've dismissed it, but having seen the black cloud rising from Isaac's body cured him of willful blindness. Whatever was going on here, Deaton had some knowledge of it and wanted to keep Stiles from harm. _Or in the dark_, a sly voice pointed out. Either way, Stiles needed to be silent and keen, while giving Deaton a false sense of security. He hadn't spent his lifetime trailing after his father without picking up a few tricks of his trade.

"I guess it doesn't really matter since Isaac was able to remember. Do you think we'll be able to extract Boyd?"

It struck him as strange how he was discussing death and destruction with an adult who should've done everything in his power to resolve the situation with someone else in authority instead of entrusting a mission of literal life and death to a young twenty-something and a bunch of teenagers. How was this his life now?

"I think Derek and Scott will come up with a plan, though I do hope you'll follow my advice and _stay away from the bank vault_."

The string lost its allure and he tossed it into the trash as he stepped up to Deaton's side. Innocent until proven guilty was the motto of the American justice system, but in the brutal shades of grey he now resided, it was an infantile and silly concept because _proven_ _guilty_ had a different priority when your suspect could sprout claws and fangs or trap you with an incantation (and never again would he use the phrase "say the magic word").

"Yeah, I'm not really the gung-ho guns blazing balls to the wall type. I'll leave that to those who can bounce without breaking. I'm more the type who plots and plans and weaves plans. Kinda like a spider, though I'm much cooler than Peter Parker. He was just a stupid guy in weird looking pyjamas."

Deaton huffed a laugh, as his intent, and the tension eased from his posture. "I thought you were Robin to Scott's Batman?"

Stiles scowled. "He never let me be Batman so I was forced to be Robin."

"And now?"

A razor sharp grin full of teeth. "I like the shadows better."

"Maybe you do, Mr. Stilinski. Maybe you do."

"Ooh look at the time, I should go if I'm gonna find that info for Derek."

"Just remember what I said."

"I will, thanks."

Deaton's name was definitely going on the list of suspects.


	4. Risk Part III

**A/N: ***SPOILER ALERT*** Again, like the previous two chapters you must have seen "Chaos Rising" to get a lot of what is discussed here. I could write it in a way to make it incidental, but I find I enjoy picking up the subtleties of the episode and interpreting it my way. And once again I lifted dialogue though I did cut some of it (really Stiles, a "wolf den?" I had to agree with Peter on that one). Oh and this chapter makes the rating go way up, just FYI.**

* * *

"This is bad idea, Derek."

"Stiles, for the last time, I know what I'm doing!"

Stiles faced down the Alpha, his palm still stinging with the force of his punch. He didn't doubt Derek was serious in his belief about his superiority, but Stiles had seen too much in the past year or so to believe so blindly. Derek had almost died too many times for Stiles to willingly let him go.

"It's okay, I'll be with him."

Scott. Of course Scott could go with him because _he_ was useful, at least according to Derek. And Stiles wasn't bitter about being left behind. _Again_.

"Yeah, that makes me feel better."

Scott clapped him on the shoulder and left the room, apparently never picking up on his sarcasm. Derek did though and didn't follow the other wolf right away.

"What's this about?"

Stiles wished he could explain the dread swimming in his stomach and the sense Derek _needed_ him there. HIs fingers itched and he unconsciously brought them up to Derek's chest, something that had the wolf widening his eyes in shock. They just didn't _do that_, touch for no apparent reason. Touch was only permissible in cases of danger or near-death, _not _like this.

Why not? Stiles touched Scott all the time with no reprecussions. Why couldn't he touch Derek?

Taking advantage of Derek's shock, Stiles lightly caressed the hard pecs beneath his hands and _pushed_. The Alpha didn't move of course, and Stiles dropped his touch to the hem of his green t-shirt and placed his palms directly to his belly. _Better_, a small voice sighed_, easier to do it this way_. The rush of heat didn't surprise Stiles anymore, and he remembered one of the sigils he'd traced over and over, imagining it against Derek's bare flesh laced with protection and gold. He wasn't sure exactly why he was doing it, but he knew he _had _ to if he wanted the wolf to come back in one piece.

"What. The. Fuck?"

Stiles drew away with a shaky breath, staring at his hands to avoid looking the Alpha in the eye. "Be careful, Derek, I'm serious."

"I will."

"You better come back."

A sigh. "I promised you nothing would happen to Scott, didn't I? I swear I won't let him get hurt."

Stiles looked up into slightly red-tinted eyes. That wasn't what he meant _at all. _In fact, he hadn't even thought to worry about his best friend or give him a protection ward.

"That's not what I meant -"

"Look, I gotta go. Just stay here and we'll be here soon."

Derek stalked out of the room without looking back, Stiles staring after him in confusion.

"So, how long you and Derek been fucking?"

Stiles turned away from the door and gaped at Peter.

"Huh? Wha-?"

The older wolf opened his eyes and smirked. "I must admit, Derek doesn't usually have good taste when it comes to his bed companions, but _you_, you are very tasty." He raised a clawed finger to his own lips and traced it lightly. "Your mouth alone must be heavenly."

A blush worked its way down Stiles' cheeks towards his chest at the innuendo. There was nothing going on between him and Derek, but he couldn't deny he sometimes had to hide an erection whenever the older man came near him. What? Sue him for being attracted to beauty. _  
_

"Uh, ew, and no. We're not like that."

"But you want to be," Peter purred, dropping his hand to his chest where he rubbed his nipple through his thin cotton shirt. There was enough light in the room for Stiles to see Peter's pants were tented at the crotch and he blanched at the sight, though a small treacherous part of him enjoyed causing the reaction. The wolf spread his thighs wider from his position on the couch to make room for his heavy erection.

"You think I can't smell your attraction? Hell, you smell almost like you're in heat."

Stiles twitched by the window, a strange warmth crawling through him when he noticed burning blue eyes staring at him. Wolves' eyes only changed colors with heightened emotions, and it was obvious which one was currently motivating Peter. The wolf wasn't helping any with the obscene lip-licking and the hand venturing lower and lower until it reached his zipper.

"You want this, don't you?"

"No-no-no," he stuttered in reply, his heart beat loud in his ears. He couldn't tell if he was lying or not. The same feeling that nearly overwhelmed him at the clinic was wending through him now; except Peter wasn't the same as Isaac. He was infinitely more dangerous.

"I bet if I pulled out my cock now, you'd go to your knees for me. Wouldn't you, pup?"

Until this moment, Stiles was positive the only emotions he felt toward Peter were hatred and fear, but the lust pooling through his veins belied that thought. The erection he'd felt earlier when Derek brushed against him returned now with startlingly force, his precome blurting out the tip and dampening his boxers in an obvious and embarrassing way.

The sound of metal teeth parting was loud in the silence and it became clear Peter wasn't a boxer or a brief man.

"God, the look on your face. You're still a virgin, aren't you?"

Peter rubbed himself through the parting in his jeans as his gaze never wavered from Stiles. Stiles, for his part, refused to glance down and give Peter the satisfaction of looking, but found he was chewing on his lips while clamping his hands on the sill behind him.

"Hmm, I think I like you better over there, helpless against your own lust and inhibited by shyness. I bet you'd spread so prettily for me, wouldn't you? Face down, ass in the air, presenting like a bitch in heat. You needing dick so badly, you'd wag and beg and hump the air for it." Slick sounds began in earnest as Peter's fist started pumping faster. "Tucked into your little bed at home you probably start touching yourself with a pretty girl in mind, like that redhead I almost had. But when you're straining to come, it's not a female who gets you off, is it? It's being held down and fucked hard by someone stronger, rougher, and bigger, isn't it?"

Stiles was dying over there, his body flushed with a caustic mixture of shame and desire because it was true what Peter was saying. So often he would start fantasizing about being with Lydia, her small soft hands touching him while he kissed her sweetly. It was nice and would work when he was feeling languid and lazy, but the times when he needed to get off fast, it was male hands hold his head down while a large dick fucked his mouth, choking him as cum poured down his throat. He never saw a face, but Stiles knew, he _knew_ who it was using him like a fucktoy, and he always came with the name bitten off at the last. He could pretend he didn't have a weird twisted crush on the guy if he didn't say the name.

"Or maybe you want to be used by all of us, is that it? I bet Isaac would rim you so gently, licking and lapping to get you loose and ready for the Alpha. He's a beta, but fuck if he doesn't act like an Omega, needy and pliant to the least order. I've wanted to plow that ass myself, but know I can't until the Alpha does." Peter slowed his masturbating at Stiles' inhalation. "Oh, you didn't know that? An Alpha gets first pick of viable mates in the pack; doesn't matter if they're male or female. I bet Erica thought she was going to get tapped, but Derek doesn't really swing that way, Kate nonwithstanding."

"Wha-?"

"Another little secret your lover kept from you, eh? Erica wanted Derek _badddd_ and not in a "oh my knight in shining armor" way but more of a "daddy spank me harder 'cause I've been a bad girl" kind of thing. She was _kinky_ and was so screwed in the head that she would take it anyway she could get it." Peter winked. "Trust me."

A week ago and the thought of Erica fucking Peter would've grossed Stiles out and made him wonder if she needed mental help, but now, here in this moment, it merely served as lighter fluid on the conflagration of his lust. His jeans got even tighter and Stiles yearned to unzip and finish himself off, maybe spray all over Peter so the wolf was marked with his seed.

"If you want to lose your pesky virginity, Stiles, stick to dirty girls like Erica and leave prissy ones like Lydia to the Jacksons of the world. Lydias look like firecrackers and lots of fun, but really they're looking for control over you. Ericas will get down in the dirt and let you be an _animal!_"

Stiles incredulously listened to Peter talk and wondered how his life had spiraled to this: being given sex advice by a man nearly as old as his father while he masturbated. And actually be turned on by it.

"Hmm, I hope they do find her alive. I haven't had any pussy since she left."

And just like that, Stiles' erection wilted as he was reminded of why he was here. Erica and Boyd were gone, taken by interlopers, and Derek was out there in the dark with Scott as his backup. It galled Stiles to be left behind when the two wolves were going up against a whole _pack_ of Alphas.

"I've lost you, haven't I? That's rude, my boy, to leave me hanging like that."

"Oh shut up, Peter. I'm not your boy and you can get off without me."

"But I'd rather get off _with_ you." The words rolled across the narrow space between them, the silky promise rubbing against Stiles' skin like a cat looking to be scratched. He darted a look at the sofa again and saw Peter's head thrown back against the cushions, his dick fully exposed as his hand blurred up and down its length. Curiousity and prurient interest kept his eyes glued to the sight and he nearly sighed with the older man when white finally spurted from the tip and dripped down.

"Want a taste? I won't tell Derek if you won't," Peter lured, his come-covered hand held out to Stiles. Stiles nearly took a step forward before common sense yanked back the controls and he stopped.

"Pity. I wanted my semen to be the first you tasted, but I guess I'll have to wait my turn."

A quick tug and tuck and Peter was decently dressed again as if the past few minutes had never happened. He even produced a hankerchief from his pocket to wipe himself clean.

Stiles refused to comment and whipped around to stare out the window towards the cold looking moon. Peter refrained from speaking and silence descended upon the apartment again. Without the wolf's interference, Stiles couldn't help but think of all the things that could go wrong for his friends, and dread once again pooled in his stomach.

After interminable minutes later, Stiles finally cracked and croaked, "I can't take waiting around like this, it's nerve-wracking. My nerves are wracked. They're severely wracked."

"I could beat you unconscious and wake you when its over." There was a certain glee threading his tone and Stiles didn't doubt the waking part of it would involve more than a simple slap to the cheeks.

"Do you think Erica is really dead?"

"Do you think I really care?"

_Yes! You're supposed to care, even a little, about a girl you took to your bed! Or, hell, what about the fact she's _Pack.

Yet none of those words passed Stiles' lips because he knew pack bonds didn't extend to Peter, at least not in a normal way. His death and resurrection was a thing of magic, but a darker kind and couldn't integrate the simpler cleaner magic inherent in bonds. Hell, he probably sheared it away himself the minute he killed Laura; sure there was precedence of Alphas being taken down by their own pack for the power, but her death wasn't due strictly to a dominance war and therefore it was _different_. Stiles didn't know or understand how he knew this other than it was knowledge pulsing quietly in his mind.

Instead he glossed over Peter's question and responded with, "I just don't understand the bank though. Why wouldn't they chain them up in some underground lair, or something? They're an Alpha pack, shouldn't they have a lair?"

Indignation and a sense of fair play was working through Stiles as he ground his teeth in frustration. Of course he knew villains never worked like they did in stories, having a convenient lair situated so the hero(es) could stumble across, but it was frustrating being the one stuck here with no knowledge of what was going on or why. Especially not know the _whys_ and _whatfores. _He could (almost) handle sending Derek off to a deadly situation except the lack of knowledge about _anything_ made the prospect so much scarier. Knowledge was half the battle, or so he learned early.

"They're werewolves, not Bond villains."

"Okay fine, that just proves there's something up with the bank. And why wait around for the full moon? Huh? Why not just kill them whenever they want to?"

"Maybe they think its poetic." Peter's words were slower now, almost sluggish like he was about to fall asleep. Stiles stilled his restless pacing to glare at the nearly comatose werewolf. Geebus, one little orgasm and he's ready to nap. Guess it really _was_ a myth about werewolf stamina - or Allison being really really kind to Scott.

"They've already had three full moons to be poetic," Stiles sneered.

"And here you've only had one full hour to be so annoying -" Peter stopped, his head snapping upright as an idea occurred to him. The teen was miffed at his words and missed the alertness raging through the wolf's body.

"No, go ahead, finish what you were saying. I'm annoying -"

Peter ignored him now, intent on the idea welling up. "What are the walls made of?"

"What? I dunno, wood and brick."

"No the vault, the walls what are they made of?" Peter had vaulted from the couch and gone to the table covered with blueprints, hastily thumbing through them in his search for the answer.

Stiles caught his exitement and pawed through the briefcase holding the rest of the information he'd gathered earlier. "Here, it's gotta be in there." Forgotten was everything that had gone before; in its place was the familiar tingling sensation Stiles always felt when pieces of a puzzle were coming into focus. Had he looked in a mirror in that exact moment, he might've recognized his father staring back at him from the glass.

Peter grasped it, his eyes speeding over the paper, fingers greedily discarding the unimportant pages as he sought the confirmation of his suspicions. "I'm right, I know I'm right."

Stiles, reading just as rapidly, spots the information before he does. "There, that's it!" Of course, Stiles has no clue what exactly it means to Peter, but feels triumphant anyway.

Peter mumbled words beneath his breath, each syllable sounding darker and darker until Stiles can't stand it any more. "That sounds awful! What does it mean?"

"Get them on the phone," the wolf ordered, for once innuendo missing from his words. "Boyd and that girl are going to kill each other. They're going to kill Derek and Scott."

Stiles froze at Peter's dire proclamation, the voice in his head starting to gibber again with _no, not our Alpha. Not the Alpha! _His fingers trembled as he tried to tap out Scott's phone number, finally remembering his best friend was #2 on his speed dial.

"Stiles now isn't the best time!"

And despite the severity of the situation, Stiles rolled his eyes as he fought the urge to laugh in disbelief This wasn't the first time Scott had tried to hang up on him during a tense moment, when it was _imperative he listened to Stiles._ There was a reason he wasn't truly a part of the Hale Pack, and stupidity was the least of his problems.

"Scott! Scott! Listen to me, you gotta get out of there!" Stiles held the phone away from him, pressing the speaker button so Peter could speak if necessary. "The walls of the vault are made with of a mineral called Hecatolite; it scatters the moonlight."

"What does that mean?"

Panic filled Stiles as he heard Derek's voice rumbling in the background, accompanied by deep growls. Obviously his bone-headed Alpha was trying to talk down a moon-ridden wolf. "It keeps the moonlight out okay. They haven't the full moonlight in months!"

Peter chimes in when the horror overwhelms Stiles and stills his tongue. "Think of it like the gladiators of the Roman Coliseum. They used to starve the lions for three days to make them more viscious, more out of control. Deucalion kept them from shifting for three full _moons, _diminishing their tolerance to it."

Stiles drew a deep breath then picked up the thread, "Scott they're going to be stronger."

Peter exclaimed in tandem, "More savage, more bloodthirsty. Scott, they're the lions. The starved lions and you and Derek just stepped into the Coliseum."

Both of them hear Scott speaking then, though obviously not to them. "Derek we have a big problem -"

Silence only broken up by growls, then Derek's voice waveringly speaking one word: "Cora? Cora?"

Peter gripped Stiles' arm abruptly, shock whitening his face as his claws dug into Stiles' skin. Stiles winced with pain and tried to draw away but stopped when the tips merely slid in deeper.

A female voice, the strange girl-wolf from Isaac's memories, floated from the tinny speakers of Stiles' phone. "Derek, get out. Get out now!"

Oh god, she's warning him away. It should be a good thing she retained enough of her senses to warn him off, except Stiles had a really bad feeling Derek wouldn't back off. Not if he knew her.

"Scott! Scott!"

There was no response then his best friend screamed, "No! No wait!" And then the growls were louder as if the wolves had come closer where Derek and Scott stood.

Peter and Stiles stared at the phone in his hand when the sound was cut off completely.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"There is no God here, " Peter whispered, his claws finally releasing Stiles. "There is only death and destruction and lies."

"Who was that girl -" Stiles started to ask before a pulsing bolt of pain went through his body, his hands, arms, chest, and stomach. He screamed in fear and shock, the pain coming over him in waves until he fell unthinkingly to his knees, then all fours, body writhing with agony as red fire traced its blazing path across his skin, blood spurting from slashes that mysteriously appeared.

* * *

**A/N: Sooo...yeah, that happened. I swear my Muse is a dirty-minded one because she took one look at Peter's sprawl on the couch and concluded it looked like he was thoroughly debauched. And since Stiles was hyper and jittery, not sex-slowed, it was obvious Peter had just finished on his own. But why? And thus this part was born.**


	5. Lunatic

"You've been holding out on me."

Stiles shivered, his arms wrapped around his body. At least fifteen minutes had passed since his "fit," and he was as miraculously whole as he was before it started.

"No, I don't-don't-know what the fuck that was!"

Peter's hand petted his hair, fingers combing through the longer strands and curving around his skull. It was oddly soothing, and Stiles fought not to lean into the touch; despite wiping his hands, there was still dried come on Peter's skin.

"You still smell disgustingly human, so you haven't been bitten, yet I watched with my own eyes as you healed damage to your body no human could survive without bleeding out. And instead of bleeding, you glowed." The fingers stopped their placid motion and started tugging hard. "Someone's been a very bad puppy and needs to be punished."

Strands of brown hair broke off as Stiles leaped away from Peter, scrabbling backwards on his elbows and butt as he kept his eyes on the lounging wolf. He had fallen into unconsciousness after the limits of his pain threshold was breached and awoke under Peter's careful eye lying on the couch. His clothes were unbloodied and still covering him, so the older man hadn't taken advantage of him while he was blacked out, but there was now a simmering violence barely leashed in Peter's body.

"I don't think I wanna be punished by you."

"Oh, I'd make you like it, sweetheart. Sparks are notorious for their inclinations It explains so much about you."

The silky words were threaded with menace and it took a moment for Stiles to comprehend their meaning.

"What do you mean, inclinations? What makes you think I'm a Spark?"

The husky laughter was nothing like the maddening cackle of before, but a liquid promise of sex. "I'm a werewolf. I can smell it all over you, under the rankness of mortality. You are dabbling in forces you don't understand."

Stiles stilled for a moment as his mind whirled faster than his physical body could keep up.

"How do you know what a Spark is?"

"What do you think Sparks are?"

"Why am I surrounded by people who constantly answer questions with questions?," he muttered in disgust.

Peter leaned forward, his smaller frame seemingly much larger than normal. It could be a trick of the moonlight or the beginning of the change, Stiles wasn't sure.

"Sparks are humans who carry the potential for magic. Werewolves are made of magic, so naturally Sparks are drawn to them. It used to be tradition for at least one or two Sparks to bond to a pack." Peter's voice lost the luster of seduction and settled into more familiar lecturing tone that Stiles knew drove Derek up the wall. "The Hale Pack, in its heyday, boasted the claiming of three such individuals."

"Claiming?" Stiles was slightly ashamed of how his voice broke like it did when puberty first hit, but he was skeeved out by the way the word rolled out of Peter's mouth.

"Yes, Stiles, claiming. Taking. Appropriation."

"Yes, yes, you know how to read a Thesaurus, thanks. I get the idea."

"No, I really don't think you do, Stiles. Sparks, while not rare, aren't exactly thick on the ground. And to think you might be a potential one." Peter slithered off the couch and crouched near Stiles who still hadn't gotten to his feet. "What did you do to Derek before he left? You touched him and while I know how much that gets your panties wet, you don't do that. So why now?"

Dr. Deaton was supposed to be the one who was teaching him, guiding him, yet he'd abandoned him at the first hint of trouble. Peter, on the other hand, was the ultimate role model for Handlebar Mustache Bad Guy, and Stiles did want to kill him dead permanently this time...except.

Except.

It was probably one of the most dangerous words in his vocabulary because it indicated a small percentage of his mind was not completely on board with the Kill Crazy Train idea.

Derek was a beta turned reluctant Alpha who was never groomed for the spot. Oh, he'd never said as much, but Stiles could read the clues as easily as anyone else, and knew Laura was the only one given the guidance for her position. By that logic then, Derek didn't have the breadth of knowledge needed if his planning abilities were anything to judge by while Peter always seemed to hold all the cards. He was probably playing with a stacked deck, but ultimately he still had the necessary information Stiles so desperately wanted about what exactly was happening to him.

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours."

"Then will you show me yours if I show you mine?"

"You've already shown me yours and I don't need a repeat."

Peter leaned a little closer so their breaths mingled in the same small place. Stiles didn't move because he didn't want to give the wolf any advantage or sign he was uncomfortable.

"Oh, you will show me yours eventually. You won't be able to help it. And then you'll beg for mine."

Stiles reared back again, this time fleeing to the window. He couldn't disguise any of his baser emotions - fear and reluctant lust - but he could pretend he did.

"I've never shown any hint of magical abilities before so why now all of a sudden would I begin manifesting them now?"

Peter stalked forward as if to crowd him against the sill, but stopped instead, his head tilted in contemplation. "That's actually a very good question, Stiles. If we had any cookies I would reward you with one for thinking of something intelligent to ask."

His "Gee thanks," was ignored.

"Magic itself isn't good or bad; it's just there to be used like any other tool. The wielder's intent is what changes the nature of magic and shapes it into a weapon or a healing agent."

"So, if werewolves are made of magic, then they can access it and use it to make fireballs?"

"And your cookie is now taken away. Don't be foolish, Stiles! We literally change our shapes from man to animals; we're shifters born with the inherent magical ability so it's not something we do but something we just are. However, if someone else, say a witch, needed a boost, they could tap into the magic that makes us us."

"Are you saying then that rituals are another way to harness the magic?"

"Good, good. Yes. As I said, magic can take on all forms because it depends on the how and what the wielder is using it for. There aren't any specific rules to its use except you can't take or use more than your body can handle. Think of you being a carafe waiting to be filled and magic is the water. The vessel can only hold so much before it begins to overflow. Once overflow effect happens, so do bad things."

Stiles shivered at the darkness coating his words. Peter usually had a flare for dramatics, though this time he rather thought Peter was stressing the importance of power control.

"That's awesome to learn, and all, but what does it have to do with me being a potential Spark?"

"There are pockets of land where magic pools in concentrated areas. It's not unusual for those born in areas with active leylines to demonstrate a sensitivity to magic or latent ability."

"Lydia," Stiles breathed. Lydia, Scott, Jackson, and Stiles were all born and reared within the shelter of Beacon Hills - Lydia was immune to the Bite, Scott and Jackson became a werewolves, and Stiles himself demonstrated Sparkitude. Stiles wondered if Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were also Hills-birthed; if so, it might account for the ease with their turning.

"Yes, though she's interesting in a completely different way."

Peter resumed his seat on the couch, though his keen gaze cut through the gloom in the room.

"I've answered your question, now answer mine."

Stiles nodded because fair was fair and Peter had gone above and beyond their proposed deal. "I was able to put a magic ring of Aconite around the club the night we went hunting for the Kanima so Dr. Deaton said he thought I might have a true Spark that needed to be nurtured and guided."

For a moment he was overwhelmed with bitterness at how abruptly it ended. Rationally he understood the vet might have a valid reason, but he couldn't help the feeling of betrayal at being dumped by his magic teacher. Of course, Dr. Deaton could be working behind the scenes with the Alpha Pack or on his own for some nefarious reason.

"Last week he had me use a focus because he said my brain was too wacky to achieve proper mediation without visual aid." Stiles shuffled his feet a little. "One of them was a protection ward - or at least I think so."

"Tsk, tsk, Stiles. Putting random sigils on Derek without his consent or knowledge. You're a boy after my own heart."

"But I don't understand how that could've caused my fit."

"I don't know either, my boy, but I do intend to find out."

Just as Stiles started to ask what he meant by that somewhat ominous statement, his phone rang. This time, however, it wasn't Scott or Derek or even his dad; no, that special ring belonged to Lydia. Part of him was excited there was proof she hadn't erased his number he'd stealthily programmed into her phone and the other half, the voice of reason, strongly urged caution and temperance. This night of horror wasn't over just yet.

"Lydia, what's up?"

"Stiles-Stiles- oh God, I've found a dead body."


	6. Lunatic Part II

"Answer the damn phone, Lydia!"

Not for the first time, Stiles cursed his jeep and her inability to go above 50 miles an hour despite his foot being pressed all the way down to the floor. He often thought his father had somehow jury-rigged the pedal so his son couldn't exceed the speed limit and he included the Sheriff in his cursing for his foresight, though he did immediately apologize just in case his father's omniscience kicked in.

He tried dialing Lydia's number again, but as before, she didn't answer, his call going straight to voice mail.

"You don't hang up on a person after saying you found a body and then don't answer the freakin' phone when the person calls back, Lydia," he screeched after the beep. "Answer the freakin' phone! Again, just in case you didn't hear me the first three times, _answer your freakin' phone _so I know if you're okay."

He rounded the corner on three wheels, just thankful there weren't any cop cars around to slow his ass down. Derek's new loft (and that would never stop being strange to say or think) was only a ten minute drive to the Beacon Hills Public Pool, but Stiles couldn't help the rabbit-quick thump thump of his heart as those self-said ten minute dragged on as if two hours instead.

He'd already lost one girl he liked, and he would be damned if he lost Lydia Martin too. There just wasn't enough awesome in the world for a major contributor to be taken out so early in the game. Shaking his head at the sport reference creeping into his inner monologue, Stiles' face lit up when he saw the entrance to the pool's parking lot. It wasn't the best-looking facility during the day – what with the barely functioning pool self-cleaner – and it was entirely sketchy at night, which begged the question: _what in _fuck_ was Lydia Martin doing out here on a school night?_

Relief, gratitude, and anger warred for dominance when he spotted Lydia near the front, her small body wrapped in a bright green jacket. He wanted to enfold her in his arms, but while they were closer now than before, there was no remote chance in heaven _or_ hell she wouldn't knee him in the balls for being presumptuous. He rushed to her side and teetered to a stop, thankful her eyes were downcast and hadn't witnessed his gracelessness.

"Lydia! Lydia! Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she trembled, before nodding her head in the direction of the Lifeguard's chair near her, "-that over there not okay."

Stiles chanced a look and even from this angle it looked like a dead body. Granted he hadn't seen many in his day, but the large pool of blood surrounding the base of the chair were good indicators he wasn't still breathing. His first instinct was to call Derek, but he immediately closed down that avenue of thinking, not the least because Derek was running around the Preserve right now playing a dangerous game of Hiding-Go-Seek in the dark with two feral wolves.

"Yeah, right, I'm gonna call my dad."

He didn't want his dad involved in this particular mess except if he got called to _this _scene there would be a less likely chance of him stomping around in the woods.

"I already called 911."

"You called the police before you called me?"

Indignation swirled into the maelstrom of emotions already fighting for dominance in his mind. Why would she be stupid to involve them without Stiles or the wolves' go-ahead?

"I'm supposed to call you first if I find a dead body?"

"Yes!" Stiles shouted into her uncomprehending face, a small part of him gasping in horror at how he was treating Queen Lydia Martin of Stilinskiland, yet a much larger part was scrambling for a way to salvage this situation _before_ civilians mucked up his crime scene. He would've thought she'd think of him, or Allison, or hell Scott to call before ever dialing 911. If it looked supernatural, acted supernatural, it probably was of supernatural origin.

And given her recent issues with blanking out and finding dead bodies it made more sense to talk to someone with knowledge. Unfortunately it seemed Lydia wasn't operating on all Machiavellian cylinders which it made him suspicious as to what was influencing her now.

He knew Derek had dismissed the design burned into the girls' wrists as nothing, yet Stiles didn't believe it wasn't nothing. There was a reason the girl had tracked them down while searching for Scott. In fact, it was highly suspicious she even knew Allison and Lydia were connected to Scott for any reason. Stiles grabbed Lydia's arm, ignoring her protestations, and stared at the half-symbol marked on her flesh. He didn't recognize it, but then he was a new practitioner so it wasn't surprising.

A simple touch had done this - what if it wasn't a brand or a warning, but some type of sigil similar to what he'd done to Derek? If Peter's information was correct, that Sparks bonded to packs, it might explain his recent weird behavior in conjunction with Derek, Isaac, and even Peter himself. He wasn't close to any of them, yet tonight he felt as if he was almost responsible for them, hence why he drew the protection symbol on Derek's stomach. Maybe the stranger was somehow connected to the Alpha Pack, though working against them for some reason. Could she be a rogue Spark? If so, why did she mark the girls? And how did Scott figure into all of this?

"Let me go!" Lydia's panicked tone finally broke through Stiles' preoccupation and he snapped back, letting go of her wrist immediately. She was panting roughly and visibly trembling, a small pink tongue flicking over her lips; she wasn't the normal composed and haughty girl he worshiped from afar but a traumatized teenaged girl who was in over her head.

"Dude, I'm sorry, I - ah, sorry." He grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly called Scott, hoping there would be enough reception wherever his best friend was. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time the other boy had ignored his call.

"A little busy right now, Stiles."

"Scott! They might've killed someone."

Hopefully Scott hadn't hung up yet.

"You sure?"

Stiles stared at the dead boy, a portion of his throat severed. He couldn't exactly tell _what_ had been done to him, but it definitely looked nasty.

"Yup, throat ripped out, blood everywhere. Like the freakin' _Shining_ over here. If two little twin girls come out of the woods and start asking me to play with them forever and ever, I'm not going to be surprised."

Scott ignored his witticism, as per usual. "Can you get a little closer and make sure it's them?"

"Make sure it's them? Scott, who else is going around ripping throats out?"

"Please just do it." His words were tinged with a small growl, as if his wolf was rising to the surface. Stiles curled back his lip in response to the somewhat aggressive tone, but bowed his head in consternation as he realized his reluctance was due to it being _Scott_ telling him to do something instead of Derek. _What the fuck?_

He took a quick look at Lydia, but she was still huddled defensively into her coat and wasn't seemingly paying attention to the conversation. Stiles flexed his fingers then stepped closer to the body, barely able to see his throat through the blood. Holding his breath to avoid inhaling the rancid smell of death, he quickly scanned the rest, eyes catching on the gleam of silver on the limp hand closest to him. It looked like a one of those purity rings some of the more religious students wore, pledging their promise to God to remain pure until marriage. Frankly, Stiles didn't see the point but to each his or her own.

'Yeah, he's definitely dead with a nasty looking throat, Scott."

"Hold on Stiles" Rustling noise as if Scott put the phone against his leg. "What Derek?"

"This doesn't make sense – the public pool is all the way over on the other side of the woods. We haven't tracked them anywhere near there."

_Maybe you just missed the tracks, Big Guy? I know it's night and you have excellent vision, but maybe they just got the jump on you. But why would they kill someone here and leave the body before running back to the Preserve? How did they do that so fast?_

"Derek, they killed someone."

_Death happens, Scott._

"How are they moving so fast?"

_Good question, Derek. Good question._

"Derek -"

"They can't be that fast on foot."

_Can feral betas run faster than a pissed off Alpha?_

"They _killed _someone. Some totally innocent kid is dead. And its our fault."

_Oh fuck that noise, Scott. You don't have to take the blame for everything that happens. Some of it is random happenstance or just, you know, bad fucking luck._

Stiles listened to the conversation between the two wolves through his speaker and wished he was standing there with them. It didn't seem right for him to be left behind _again_ when the real action was going on out there while he was babysitting a corpse and Lydia. Scott seemed to realize the phone was still on because he pushed the off button without checking if Stiles was there or not.

"Rude, Scott. Just rude," he muttered, even as he debated calling back, but opted to leave enough alone. Besides he now had his own problems in the form of his dad's cruiser pulling up behind his jeep and the ambulance a close second. It wasn't the first time he was discovered at a crime scene, and he really hated to see _the look_ on his dad's face again.

"Ms. Martin, are you okay?"

Lydia pulled herself out of whatever spiral her thoughts led her to and tried to smile up at the Sheriff, though Stiles could see the effort it cost her.

"Yes sir."

"Can you tell me why you came out here so late?"

"I dunno," she breathed, quickly retreating to her coat. "I was going to the store to get some meds, and -" Lydia shrugged clearly at a loss.

The Sheriff eyed her closely, his patient smile never wavering, but Stiles recognized the assessing look. His dad was determining if Lydia was either involved in the death and trying to throw off suspicion or an innocent bystander who happened to stumble upon a dead body in a close public pool late at night far from her house.

_Fuck_, it was suspicious no matter how you look at it. Unless you knew there was a supernatural element to the murder, Lydia was the perfect scapegoat. _Was that the reason she was drawn here? To take the blame? If so, why? Who would send her? How?_

"-son. Stiles!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here."

"Exactly. Why _are_ you here? I thought you were with Scott."

The words were right, but the tone was off. His dad no longer took the "I'm going to hang with Scott tonight, be back by curfew," as Gospel anymore. More than anything, Stiles mourned the easy relationship he used to enjoy with his dad.

Perhaps it was this thought in the forefront that made him a little more truthful than normal.

"Was until his _boyfriend_ called."

The Sheriff's eyebrows rose. "Boyfriend? I thought he was dating the Argent girl."

"Heh, heh, just kidding Dad. You know, boyfriend like bro-ski, bromanator. No,no, he's not gay. He's not confused sexually, just a giant douche bag who drops me the minute Der-Isaac calls."

Too late he remembered his dad couldn't know about Derek and so he hoped his substitution of Isaac's name would slide by. Of course the whole reason he was originally hanging out with Scott was directly connected to this murder – and Stiles' brain kinda hurt now. Secrets sucked.

"Isaac, huh? And you just happened to come by here …?"

The Sheriff's skepticism had waned a lot, probably lulled by Stiles' herky-jerky verbal dance. _That,_ at least, was normal.

"No, I called him Sheriff. Allison wasn't picking up her phone and I was – was – scared."

Lydia piped up in the awkward silence, saving Stiles from lying. Though technically that _was_ the reason why he came: to help Lydia. He had reacted first and thought about possible consequences later because at her call he hadn't known what was going on other than Lydia was in trouble.

"Uh huh. You called Stiles before you called the police?"

"No, she didn't. Though for future reference, Lyds."

"You should always call the police and never Stiles," the Sheriff butted in, glaring at him now. Stiles grinned and held up his hands.

"Kidding, Dad. Kidding."

"Ms. Martin, you probably should go home and let your folks know what's going on."

Stiles barely kept the snort in, knowing Lydia would kill him if he ever intimated her Mom could care less.

"Thanks, Sheriff, I will."

"I'll send two deputies with you, just in case."

Stiles thought it was a little weird for his dad to be so careful especially when he'd decided Lydia wasn't a suspect but an innocent witness.

Just then, the newest deputy, the first female officer in five years, walked up with an unusually grim look on her face.

"The second vic from the Preserve was sent to the hospital for observation, but still no sight of her companion. I've notified the mother of the vic about her daughter's disappearance."

"Good, good." His dad scrubbed a hand across his face as he prioritized his evening. "Please let Higgins and Perkins know they're going to escort Ms. Martin home."

Stiles hoped his poker face had improved and the female officer didn't realize he'd overheard their conversation. The Sheriff was distracted by whatever had happened at the Preserve – _two victims? Were they attacked by Boyd and Cora? Did Derek and the others scare them off?_ - and didn't notice his son's twitching, which would've tipped him off immediately.

"Also, do we know who this boy is?"

"Not yet, Sheriff, but we're working on it."

Stiles was curious about what exactly went down in the woods earlier, but also needed to get Lydia away from everyone and interrogate her...erm ask her...what the hell went on prior to her showing up. It was too coincidental for her to find _another_ dead body so soon after all the shenanigans of last year.

"C'mon, Lydia. Let's get you home."

* * *

**A/N: Something I find extremely funny - on most shows, you rarely see/hear people saying "bye" to each other after ending a phone call. If we all used the same phone etiquette they use on tv, we'd be a much ruder society. I know it's a small thing, but it bothered me enough for me to add my own two cents in how the convo between Scott and Stiles ended (if you remember, you don't actually find out because the scene flows right into the Derek-Scott-Isaac pow-wow).**


	7. Lunatic Part III

**A/N: ***SPOILER ALERT***As always, dialogue was lifted directly from the episode. I usually bridge the scenes with my own interpretations but in this case, it wasn't necessary. **

* * *

Stiles felt more than heard his phone ringer going off and seriously contemplated ignoring whomever was on the other end; he'd complained about how boring his summer was and the Gods had punished him with danger and terror, and almost no down time to process everything going on. He'd finally managed to make it to his bed after seeing Lydia home - and enduring that incredibly tense conversation - and he really didn't want to leave his snug-a-bug position.

_Brrrring. Brrrring. Brrring._

It wasn't anyone's ring tone, but the generic programmed one, so Stiles figured it could wait until he got some shut-eye.

_Brrrring. Brrrring. Brrring._

"What?"

Stiles figured being forced out of bed and to the phone at 1 A.M. warranted surliness.

"Stiles?"

"Mrs. McCall?"

"Did I wake you?"

"Uh, kinda? What's up? Scott isn't with me, he's still with the pack in the woods."

It was surprisingly refreshing not having to lie to _every_ adult in his life. At least about this.

"I didn't call you about Scott, though it's sort of related. Can you come to the hospital? You really need to check out the body that was brought in."

"What's going on?"

"Look Stiles, I can't really talk about _it_ over the phone. It'll be a lot easier for you to come here."

"Why me?"

"Well, Scott _is_ out in the woods with Derek, so they're both out. Scott said I could trust Dr. Deaton, but honestly, I don't know him very well other than as my son's boss. You, I do. Of course, if you want me to call your father instead..."

It amazing how fast you can get across Beacon Hills when properly motivated.

Fortunately his somewhat loud entrance into the hospital wasn't seen by anyone but Mrs. McCall. She looked up from the folder on the counter with a relieved smile. It must be good if she looked _happy_ to see him.

"Hey."

Her hand curled around his bicep like a claw and Stiles figured he wouldn't be able to get away if she didn't want him to.

"Hey," he responded somewhat hesitantly.

"Over here. And if you tell anyone I showed you this, I swear to God I will kill you painfully, slowly."

There were only three things he was scared of, and Mrs. McCall was definitely on the list. He had no doubts she would find a way to not only kill him, but also get away with it. Just like with dogs and Derek, however, it was best not to show fear.

"Why are you showing me a body I've already seen?"

"Because you haven't seen everything."

Dead bodies, contrary to popular belief, looked like meat sacks void of any sentience. There was no "ah, looks like he's sleeping," sort of thing going on; it was even worse when murder or trauma was the cause of death.

The boy Lydia found was cleaned up and looked even younger than his purported seventeen or eighteen years; his face was pock-marked with acne scars and his upper body was lightly muscled, but otherwise unremarkable. Well except for the gaping wound at his throat of course.

"See this around his neck?" She pointed to his throat. "That's a ligature mark, which means he was strangled with something like a cord, rope ."

Stiles looked closer at the cleaned skin and saw, despite the slice, it wasn't ragged like a bite mark. "Okay, wait a second, what kind of werewolf strangles someone? You know, it's not very werewolf-y."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Erp-"

"And then there's this -" Mrs. McCall showed no compunction about rolling the stiff head (ha. ha. no pun intended) to the side, revealing a gaping hole not intended by God.

"Appp, eeeeahh, srrrr oh man - what is that? Is that brain matter? Yeah, it's brain matter. Of course."

Mrs. McCall looked faintly amused, which was a sentiment out of place considering their location, but Stiles ignored it in favor of trying not to vomit what little food remained in his stomach.

"See the indentation? He was hit in the back of the head hard enough to kill him. In fact, any _one_ of these things could've killed him! I mean, someone seriously wanted this poor kid dead."

Relief warred with a spiraling fear. "So this couldn't have been Boyd or Cora, you know. They wouldn't have done all that." Well, Boyd wouldn't have. Stiles didn't know Cora so he couldn't wholeheartedly vouch for her. "So maybe this is just one murder? I mean, maybe, this is just a random coincidence." He didn't really believe that, of course, especially in Beacon Hills, but Stiles was willing to be optimistic in this, if nothing else. The look on Mrs. McCall's face put paid to that thought immediately.

"I don't think it was just one."

How utterly unsurprising and yet terrifying at the same time. "How come?"

"Because that girl over there," she jerked her head to the right to indicate the covered body behind Stiles, something he'd been trying to ignore since they walked in, "she's got the exact same injuries."

The oddest thing to happen to Stiles wasn't the golden magic spilling from his fingertips into Scott's tattoo or painting a protective sigil onto Derek's stomach hours before he was nearly eviscerated by his own wolves; no, it was _knowing_ who lay under the sheet. _Knowing_ he hadn't expected her to be alive, not being taken so easily and covertly, not being a student of Deaton's School of Sparking and the son of the Sheriff in a town beset by unnatural murders for the past year and a half.

"The ME said this one wasn't just strangled, whoever did it used a garrote, which is a stick that you put through the rope and kind of keep twisting."

Heather was cold and gray and too young to be lying so motionless on the medical examiner's table, her throat and head looking the same as the boy found at the pool. Now that he knew what to look for, he could tell she too was the victim of the same faceless murderer who'd probably wasn't finished if Stiles' gut feelings were correct. And he'd failed her, failed his oldest friend because he'd allowed his stupid hormones and feelings of inadequacy to cloud his thinking for a brief moment.

"Stiles?"

He couldn't take his eyes from her face and reassure Mrs. McCall despite the worry in her tone. She knew him for years and probably didn't recognize the look on his face because Stiles was good at covering his deepest emotions so no one could see to his heart. This time, unfortunately, he couldn't keep the despair and self-hatred from showing cleanly as if he were like Scott who couldn't hide his feelings to save his life (or anyone else really).

"Oh my god, did you know her? Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't even think."

In a gesture smacking of too little too late, Mrs. McCall drew the sheet over Heather's face as if it would erase the memory of her lifeless corpse from his mind. Stiles parted his lips trying to dredge up the flurry of words to hide behind, but found his tongue tangled and tied with sorrow. Heather was the one who'd stayed beside him when his mother was buried, who held his hand at the grave sight and then again tucked up against him in his narrow bed where he burrowed to avoid the wake. Scott had come over after she'd left and played video games with him to help him keep occupied, but he never forgot the warmth of Heather against his side, her steady breathing and beating heart the only sound loud enough to drown out the screams echoing in his mind. They'd drifted apart after that, differing schools and competing attentions of their ambitions in life, and Stiles hadn't really mourned the loss because in some ways Heather personified his mother's death so it was easy to let her go except for the occasional email or IM.

But not like this. _God, not like this_.

"I was-I was at her party. It was her birthday. Her name was Heather."

Heather Anne McCauley – he'd always found it kind of ironic he had two friends with similar last names. Moisture brushed his cheeks and Stiles was surprised to find himself crying and quickly wiped his face on the sleeve of his hoody, distantly embarrassed by the show of emotion. He avoided looking at Mrs. McCall because he knew the sad pitiful look on her face would make this tearing sensation in his chest even worse. He suddenly wanted his mother, wanted her arms around him and her lips on the crown of his head as she murmured to him in her faintly accented voice, telling him everything would be better in the morning once the sun had time to rise.

"Okay we need to call your father 'cause you're a witness."

_Witness...witness...witness..._

The word triggered something in him, a sixth sense he'd always had but only started developing, and he stared back at the pool boy, staring at his opened throat but remembering his positioning, the odd way his purity ring had remained blood-free despite everything.

"Stiles?"

Heather had said his name too, not questioning and fearful like Mrs. McCall, but huskily and with sensual intent as she dragged him into her wine cellar for some privacy so she could ask him to divest her of her pesky virginity.

His ADHD was often a source of frustration and ill-humor for Stiles, yet sometimes he felt blessed, like now, as impressions and facts coalesced into a possible pattern. His father had always said one was an accident, two a coincidence, and three, three was a _pattern_.

"Has anyone else been through here tonight? Any-any bodies or-or even anyone missing?"

"Uh, no no bodies, but um -"

Mrs. McCall looked a little shell-shocked at the rapid flip of his emotions and Stiles felt impatience score him. Yes, he was hurt by the death of his oldest friend, but now he had the possible means to solve her murder so he really wished she would keep up.

"What?"

"Two girls. They brought the first one, Caitlin, for a tox screen. And then I overheard that her girlfriend Emily just disappeared. I mean, they were out in the woods and -"

"And nobody's found her yet?" Stiles' whole body quivered with nerves as his mind marveled at this new information, seeing how it fit into the rapidly darkening pattern.

"I don't know."

"K. The first one."

"Caitlin."

As if he'd forget her _name_. Her name was important because it would lead to her giving him what he needed.

"Is she here? Is she here right now?"

"I think so."

Think? _Think?_ Why couldn't Mrs. McCall be suffused with the same _knowing_ he felt traveling through his body in the same manner his magic did sometimes.

"Okay where?"

It was good to move. Movement meant life. Stasis meant death. Why was Mrs. McCall stopping his momentum?

"Okay, okay just wait a minute."

Didn't she realize he would go through her if he had to? He didn't want to, being his best friend's mom, but he would. He _would_.

"I have to talk to her."

There was worry on her face now as if Stiles wasn't making sense. He was. He _was_.

"Why?"

Because if he was right, Emily was the important one. If he was right, then Caitlin survived because she wasn't a _virgin_ and Emily was.

"Because I think I know what's happening."

* * *

**A/N: Dylan O'Brien did such a lovely job of acting in the morgue scene and I loved how he flipped from sad to manic as his brain worked overtime coming to the correct conclusions. This part will probably be split into 4 or maybe even 5 parts (if you have an AO3 account, I've posted this story under the same pseudonym). Look for the series "Shadowy Conversations" as each chapter is linked as a series.**


	8. Lunatic Part IV

Emily was, as Stiles had supposed, a virgin before her mysterious disappearance. Despite Caitlin's use of an illicit drug, he had no doubt everything happened exactly as she said, up to and including her sighting of the wolves in the forest. Mrs. McCall and he exchanged glances when she described Scott, both thankful the Sheriff hadn't been as thorough with the witness or as believing. It worried Stiles how close his father was to the supernatural again, as always so close to the truth and danger.

"You need to go home now Stiles, get some rest."

They'd stepped outside Caitlin's room, and he slumped against the wall as his brain whirled frantically with all the added data.

"I can't...I can't sleep...not if what I"m thinking is true."

Threes. Everything came in threes. Three was a magical number present in the _three_ major world religions - in Christianity it represented the three faces of God, in Judaism the Three Patriarchs of their religion, and in Islamic culture the three holy cities of worship. If monotheistic religions embraced the power of three, why not older, darker times? _Think, think, think._

"And what _is_ going on? How do _you_ know what it is?"

Her words were harsh, but the tone gentle. Stiles knew it was her motherly instinct kicking in. She'd had a hand in raising him too, after all, and was as worried by his demeanor as she was with Scott gallivanting around in the woods. This year was as hard on her as it was on them.

"I've been learning from Dr. Deaton. Learning the history of the wolves."

Again, not a lie, but not the _complete_ truth either. This was something else, a tune whose lyrics were on the tip of his tongue; it was maddening how familiar this was feeling, though he could swear he'd never seen anything like it before. _Remember!_

"Why?"

His eyes flashed up to hers, an anguished amber against pale clotted cream skin.

"Because I can't help Scott! I'm useless! I'm not as fast, or strong, or-or indestructible as him!"

Mrs. McCall reached out then, gently encircling his wrist with an implacable hold. She was small and fragile and female, but Stiles had never underestimated her strength or iron will, having seen it time and again when necessary to step between danger (both physical and emotional) and her son. _Sons_, a soft voice reminded him.

"Stiles, your existence is what helps Scott. Do you know why I was able to finally accept my son's condition?"

They always used code words to speak of werewolf business in public, but Stiles still hated the secrecy sometimes. She made it sound like Scott had an incurable disease instead of a magical gift. No matter how much their lives changed with the bite, a part of Stiles couldn't help the wonder and awe at the knowledge werewolves existed. _They existed!_

"Because you're an amazing woman?"

Mrs. McCall chuckled lightly at that, her hand shifting so her fingers threaded through Stiles'. It reminded him of when they were smaller and she would hold Scott's hand to cross the street; this persisted until he was nearly twelve. Stiles still didn't know why Scott stopped doing it, but he often wondered if it had something to do with his dad's desertion.

"I knew my baby boy couldn't be a monster, _wouldn't_ be a monster, as long as he had you in his corner. You've stood beside him, behind him, and in front of him his entire life and haven't wavered. If you have that courage, then so must I."

Stiles ducked his head as tears pressed against his eyelids again. Crying was unmanly, or so society taught him, but ultimately it wasn't embarrassment that he hid this time, but gratefulness. Grateful that someone else could see _him_ as well as Scott. Lately he really felt as if he were invisible, and he had the fanciful idea that he was Scott's imaginary best friend instead of a real boy.

"So are you going home or am I gonna have to call your dad?"

"Ahem, ah, yeah, I guess I will. But if you see or hear from Scott before I do...uh...tell him to call, or better yet stop by."

"You'll see him later today at school."

"It's important."

"Will you ever tell me what it is?"

Stiles had sufficient time to recover from his emotional moment and gently withdrew his fingers from hers. "I will, but...I need to think about it more. Make sure I'm right before I say anything."

Mrs. McCall was great and all, but ultimately she wasn't _in it_ with them regardless of how understanding and accepting she was now. She wasn't there when it was Scott and him against the Alpha, then Derek and his merry band of feral idiots.

A fond smile graced her pretty face. "Night, Stiles."

"Night, Mrs. McCall."

He walked down the hallway and towards the bend in the corridor, conscious of her eyes on his back. Despite her professed affection, spoken in so many words, she knew him well enough to not _exactly_ trust his word. Stiles wasn't offended and was kind of amused by it. Besides, he needed some time with his computer and the spread sheet he needed to start so he could fill in the information he'd gleaned here this (early early) morning.

It was the last coherent thought he had as the world melted around him in a sea of reds and violets, punctuated by gut-rending terror and pain.

* * *

**A/N: This episode never actually shows how Stiles and Scott meet up at the hospital morgue, especially since Scott presumably didn't come over until well after he found Derek still alive and dropped off the unconscious betas. So it's morning by then - I only watched the ep once, so I could be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure it's still supposed to be a school day for them. It's a little weird for Stiles to be hanging out at the hospital all this time waiting on Scott, so this is my reasoning why (to clear up confusion - he's still experiencing everything happening to Derek, so he's feeling everything happening to Derek when Cora and Boyd go to town on him). There will be one more chapter for "Fireflies," before I move onto "Unleashed." Since ep 5&6 ("Frayed" and "Motel California") aren't standalone I'm going to write it as one section instead of splitting them up.**


	9. Lunatic V

"Stiles! Stiles, you need to stop doing that!"

The boy in question fluttered his eyelids as he rose to consciousness, spurred by the half-exasperated, half-worried tone of someone he knew _very_ well, though right now he couldn't name the person speaking.

"Hmmph?"

"How many times has my mom told you _not_ to mix Red Bull and your ADHD meds? It's a good way to lead to your heart stopping!"

_So is having your skin flayed from your bones over and over_, he mused silently. The voice continued to berate him as Stiles slowly became more aware of his surroundings. The smells around him suggested somewhere clinical and sterile so most likely a hospital or doctor's office, but the starchy sheets beneath his fingertips and the upright bed definitely clinched the hospital angle. Next he sent tendrils of thought throughout his body and was relieved to note nothing more than a cramp in his left calf muscle and right foot, as if he'd seized up against some tremendous force. The feeling of his chest ripped apart and his lungs deflated faded, especially when he investigated the site with his hands.

"Are you even listening to me?"

_No_, Stiles admitted, though he wasn't sure if his interrogator could hear him or not. _I'm just thankful I'm alive. _

"Dude, I have stuff to tell you!"

"Cat's Cradle."

"What?"

"She was playing Cat's Cradle."

"Who's "she"?"

_The little girl in the garden with the dead tree in the middle. She wanted me to play with her._

"Stiles! Stiles!"

Hot skin pressed against him, burning him through his t-shirt, and he yelled as he bucked backwards away from the awful touch.

"Dude!"

"Stiles?"

Brown eyes flashed open and stared into bright gold ones inches from his face. He probably should be scared of the inch long canine's extending past the boy's lips, but he wasn't.

_Why aren't I?_

_Oh, I know him._

"Scott! What the hell man?"

Dark brows pulled into a worried frown melted into slight arches of relief.

"Are you finally back with me? Mom said you went unconscious about an hour and a half ago. She barely managed to get you here without anyone seeing."

The room she put him in was in the older part of the second floor, as evident by the dim lighting, vacant two occupant room (well, other than him), and grungy tile. Beacon Hills Medical Center had recently gone under renovation when a large sum of money was donated for that purpose. No one knew exactly who had given the money, but Stiles had an inkling of the parties involved.

"What happened?"

"I dunno dude, you tell me. Mom said you stopped by and discussed the bodies in the morgue and then you started to go home but collapsed in the hallway. You were out cold for a few seconds then snapped to it when she called your name, but were really out of it so she frog-marched you here to recover before returning to her post. As soon as she got you down, you were out again."

"Heather? What about -"

_Oh. Yeah._

_Face gray, lips blue, body slack. Throat slashed, hole in head, not wolves, something, something else. Think._

"What are you humming?"

"Hmmn?"

"You're humming, Stiles. You never hum."

Stiles looked away from the earnest face Scott was aiming his way and realized he _was_ humming.

"_Cat's in the Cradle_."

"Huh?"

"The song I'm humming is _Cat's in the Cradle _by Harry Chapin. It was my mom's favorite."

Both boys froze at his offhand comment. Stiles didn't talk about the deceased Mrs. Stilinski any more than Scott spoke about his deadbeat dad, so it was startling how easy the words fell from his lips.

"Uh, uh, okay."

Scott fell silent, though his mouth opened a few times as he tried to pick his way through the verbal minefield and get their conversation back on track. Stiles still wasn't feeling wholly himself, but took pity on his befuddled best friend.

"So, what's up?"

_There, that sounded normal._

"Uh, well, we ended up getting help from Allison's dad because we weren't doing so well tracking Boyd and Cora on our own, and we got them to follow us to Beacon High, where we trapped them in the boiler room -"

"Wait. We have a boiler room?"

"Yeah, I know right? Isaac knew about it."

"Of course he did," Stiles muttered, a little jealous of Scott's admiring tone. _His_ ideas were often shot down by Scott and only turned to after everything else was exhausted. Of course, the last great idea he had ended up with Scott bitten and turning into a werewolf...so maybe there was a reason.

Stiles drooped and pressed back against the bed in a small funk.

Scott continued on, either ignoring or ignorant of Stiles' mood. "So, Derek and I were sitting there waiting for daylight, but then I heard a third heartbeat."

"What?"

He's get back to the whole "daylight" thing with him in a second. A _third_ heartbeat? And Scott heard it, but not Derek?

"Yeah, our new English teacher Ms. Blake was down there."

"Why was she down there?"

"I guess that's where they keep the supplies for teachers."

"Okkkaaayyyy...but why was she down there tonight, er, last night? I mean, we've only been back a few days, so how come she's at school so late? We haven't even turned in any assignments yet."

Scott shrugged. "I dunno, but we had to open the doors. Derek went in there to get her and -"

"Let me guess, got ripped to shreds by Boyd and Cora."

"How'd you know?"

Stiles just _looked_ at Scott, not even deigning to respond. Regardless of the weird body connection he now apparently shared with Derek, the young Alpha was constantly getting shot, stabbed, or drowned because he jumped in to save somebody. Of course, a lot of it he brought on himself, but the point was still valid.

"Yeah, it's a Derek thing. He held them back from attacking her. Isaac and I went in there once the sun started coming up and he was on his knees covered in blood, but it wasn't that bad actually."

Stiles remembered the feeling of raw shredded flesh hanging there, a moment when he could see his insides as clearly as he could see Scott now. It was a surreal and entirely terrifying experience – and Derek experienced it over and over in his short life. Werewolf healing was great and all, but it still didn't take away the knowledge your body was being torn apart. Little wonder the dude was so snarly.

"What significance does the sun coming up have?"

"Oh," Scott looked a little uncomfortable"Um, it's a werewolf thing."

"Yeah, I figured _that_ one out." Stiles sighed theatrically then slowly straightened when Scott didn't continue. "Wait, are you not telling me because it's a _werewolf thing_ and I'm human so I can't know?"

Scott's "No," was less than believable.

"Dude! Who's been there since the beginning? Who _trained_ you when you wouldn't accept Derek's help? Who's had your back since the day we met?"

"Stiles -"

"No, don't _Stiles_ me, Scott! I deserve to know. I'm human, yes, but that doesn't stop me from saving your werewolf ass."

"Dude, it's not like that. I just don't want you to get involved! I mean, look at you, you're overdosing on your meds again to stay up and research! I don't want you _hurt."_

The last bit was roared more than said, Scott's emotions overwhelming him to the point he wolfed out, the brown hair sprouting as teeth and claws elongated, distorting his face.

"Whoa, Scott. Buddy. Calm down."

Stiles knew Scott needed touch to anchor him when Allison wasn't around for him to sense, so he slowly put his hand out on his best friend's shoulder to settle him. Both drew back in shock when electricity seemed to spark between them, sending a small current down Scott's arm to his hand. Surprise revealed his human features as he stared at Stiles in consternation.

"What was that?"

"Damn static electricity!" Stiles chuckled nervously, aware he was being hypocritical by trying to deflect Scott from the truth rather than just saying it, but he needed to wrap his head around what was going on before he could explain it.

"Huh, weird."

"You okay buddy?"

"Yeah, yeah." Scott started pacing back and forth at the bedside until Stiles felt dizzy and anxious just looking at him. Closing his eyes, he slid off the edge and stood, relieved his shoes were still on.

"Look Scott, I know this is dangerous, but I've been in it since the beginning. Don't leave me out now. Please."

"Fine! Just, you just gotta promise me that you won't mess with your meds. I mean it."

It was an easy promise to make and keep because that wasn't what was going on, but damned if Stiles could tell him.

"C'mon, lets go to the morgue. I have some things I gotta show you. There is so much more going on than just the Alpha Pack, Scott. So much more."

* * *

**A/N: I had intended to bring them to the morgue and have that scene play out, but ultimately I felt it was more important to give them a little moment together since they didn't really have any this episode. This is the end for my interpretation of this episode and will continue to the next.**


	10. The Rule of Three

_Winston Churchill had it right: If you're going through Hell, keep going._

The last few days since the revelation about Boyd and Erica's treatment at the hands of the Alpha Pack, the introduction of Derek's little sister Cora – and wasn't _that_ suspicious in its own right? – and the first of the Three-Fold deaths were definitely surpassing the craziness of last year, which was something Stiles never thought would happen. How could your best friend turning into a werewolf and then your arch-nemesis turning into a nasty lizard be topped? Apparently the universe was determined to prove that, yes, Beacon Hills really_ was_ sitting on the Hellmount.

Stiles was beginning to think he needed to track down Joss Whedon and find out if the man was just a genius or connected to the supernatural world. He definitely seemed like a man who knew too much (at this rate, Derek would be proven wrong and Vampires did exist). Scott's voice broke into his musings and he tuned back into the ongoing conversation, mentally shelving his rumination for a later date. The info might make an appearance on the spreadsheet.

"Looked everywhere, it's like he just walked away; left his car, his dog."

"Is it weird to you too how many of our conversations take place in the locker room?"

Scott didn't even look at him. "Stiles, be serious. The guy just _disappeared_."

"I am being serious, Scott." Stiles drew in a breath and refocused. "Okay, like, did he-could he be like a virgin? Did he look like a virgin? Was he, you know, virginal?"

"No, definitely not. Deaton makes me have sex with all of his clients. It's a new policy."

Stiles stopped for a moment as he stared at Scott in consternation. Obviously he was kidding, but could this actually be a thing? Did the guy disappearing mean Deaton was part of the ritualistic deaths? Maybe they weren't virgins this time because it was the start of a new cycle? Sluts? No, that couldn't be...could it?

"Heh."

Hopefully Scott felt his head being popped like a zit.

"No, I don't know if he was a virgin. And why are you talking like he's already dead? He's just missing."

And there it was, ladies and gentlemen, his best friend's incurable optimism despite all evidence to the contrary. He really wanted to pat Scott's cheeks and tell him Santa Claus was real too.

Of course, if the dog owner was a virgin, then the cycle was starting a new, and it was close, only a day or two from the previous three deaths, which if the dude were a serial killer – sad to say Beacon Hills wasn't so lucky to have a run of the mill normal killer – this would be escalation of the worst kind.

Oh man, if the killer wanted virgins...well...Stiles was definitely a virgin. Well, not virgin in the Rosy Palms kind of way, or even, you know, a few finger lengths further down, but almost only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades. Sex, he needed sex, right now. Sex so he wouldn't be the next target because, lets be real, how many virgins were there left in Beacon Hills besides him?

"Stiles, you do realize you're saying this all aloud, right?"

"I need sex!"

It was then Danny's velvet voice cut through the clang of the locker room, the purring invitation to come over to his house both seductive and odd at the same time. Danny was a sweet guy when he wasn't being influenced by Jackson. And he definitely got hotter over the summer – man, the definition in his arms and chest alone was awesome. Not that Stiles was into that, though there was nothing wrong if he was.

"I like to cuddle."

"So do I!"

"I was kidding."

"Oh...I wasn't. Cuddling is manly. And you're mean. Mean, Danny, _mean_. I see why you and Jackson were friends for so long."

Danny winked suggestively, even as he sauntered away, dimples flashing as he laughed at Stiles' pain. _Laughed!_

"Uh, dude, what was that? I mean, I thought you liked Lydia."

"Hey, I could be the next victim so I can't cut off my options by limiting myself only to females." Stiles forcefully stuffed the rest of his stuff into the locker and slammed it close. "But see what I mean about having important conversations here where anyone could overhear?"

"Dude, are you trying to tell me you're gay? Or, bi?"

"No Scott, I'm not having a gay crisis right now. I know who and what I like and want."

"Uh, it would be cool with me if you, you know, liked guys. Whatever makes you happy."

"On the one hand that's incredibly sweet. On the other...what the hell, Scott?"

"What?"

"Are you two Chatty Cathies done yet? The track isn't going to run itself."

Both boys jerked around at the interruption. Coach Finstock stood with his arms crossed glaring at them. "You're both pretty pretty princesses and yes, Bolinski, McCall will go to the Dance with you if you ask him nicely."

"That's not what we're -"

"I don't care what you guys are talking about. I want you out this door pronto with the bit between your teeth like you just saw the carrot at the starting line."

"Uh Coach, you're crossing your metaphors there..." Again.

"I don't care if I'm cross-dressing like you, Bolinski, just get out!"

They headed out the doors and towards the back of the field. Stiles hadn't known that being on the Lacrosse team automatically meant you were going out for Track, but it wasn't optional if they wanted to stay on the team for next season. Stiles wasn't a huge fan of running, so he was a reluctant participant, at least during school hours. Deaton had also recommended running as a part of his training because, as he put it, "you need to be able to use your magic in any situation and think quickly on your feet," because "it's doubtful your enemy will patiently wait for you to encircle a building with belief."

Running had become not just a tool in his arsenal, but also a healthy way to engage his mind. The physical activity helped keep him focused on the task at hand, a feat Stiles had once deemed impossible because too often he was easily distracted as evidenced by the millions of tabs open on his computer at home when he researched something.

Here, though, it was an impediment to a conversation he desperately needed to have with Scott. Sure, his best friend had heard his theories regarding the deaths, yet hadn't heard the most important information Stiles had obscured from everyone except Peter: the magical sigil. Having his body ripped apart and repaired within a short amount of time, with no scars or marks to even show for his agony, had taken its toll on Stiles while simultaneously increasing his respect for the wolves in his life.

It was also becoming increasingly apparent he needed to confess to Deaton exactly what he'd done and learn how to reverse it because he didn't think he could go through sharing more of Derek's pain. And with other predatory Alphas hunting him, it was more and more likely Derek would find the final death if he didn't fall in with their plans for him. Stiles didn't know how far the magic would go, if he could expect to share in the death or not, and not for the first time in the last few days cursed his curiosity which lead to use of the damn symbol.

"Scott," he began, half-turned towards his friend, only to see the back of him as he hurried towards Isaac. Resentment and jealousy curdled in his stomach, winding him as if Scott had punched him instead of walking away. He was unused to sharing Scott, and had grudgingly done so with Allison, yet the other wolf was another matter.

Heeding some call of the wild only he heard, Isaac took off a moment later with Scott hot on his heels as they chased the twin Alphas who were in front. This wasn't going to end well. At all. And if any of the wolves hoped to hide their natures, they should check their strides. It was a brief whisper of breath between complete stand still and flat out racing across the hilly topography; he could hear Coach Finstock's exclamations of amazement at their pace.

Resigned to running alone, as he had no desire to join the herd placidly jogging ahead, Stiles stamped his feet a few times and tried to set off in the same direction.

Tried to, being the operative term, as a white wash of sound suddenly slammed into him and doused him in a maelstrom of heat like he was a wick set afire. It was similar to the agony of rent flesh except it wasn't a physical manifestation. His feet moved without conscious thought and Stiles shambled through the thick brush into a small clearing, his eyes automatically tracking the area with wide sweeps until it came to rest on the body hanging limply from a tree, bound to the trunk with a thin leather strap. Stiles didn't need confirmation from Scott to know this was the pet owner who went missing so mysteriously.

The blood was tacky and dried on the bark and the kid's clothes, so obviously not fresh, yet Stiles could still as hear unheeded screams echoing in his ears. The tree seemed to vibrate as if it were sentient and wishing to rid itself of its unwitting burden so Stiles cautiously put a hand to it, studiously avoiding the body and any evidence, and exhaled with relief when the world righted itself once again.

He was only spurred from his immersion into the quiet space when a real scream pierced the veil between him and the rest of the world, channeled through the vocal chords of a distraught classmate coming upon the scene. Stiles quickly looked at her, but there was no accusation on her face at his proximity to the corpse, so much as disbelief at seeing the dead boy.

With more mental clarity for time and space he currently existed in, Stiles stepped back so he could reexamine the gruesome scene. The same three marks were immediately apparent on the body and brought home the fact his fears for a new cycle were fully realized. Whether the boy was a virgin or not was incidental; there was a pattern to be found, he was sure, and was equally imperative he discover it, but more importantly – _how had he known where to find the body?_


	11. Rule Part II

Stiles piloted through the rest of his morning classes with a sort of numb bewilderment. The Sheriff's Department was dispatched immediately once the body was found, and the area was cordoned off. There was a general announcement by the Principal about how the Track and Field area was not available for student use for the rest of the day, and if anyone had any questions or problems, to be excused from class and go to the guidance counselor.

The voice had barely finished crackling over the PA when Stiles raised his hand. There was no way he could continue sitting through US History without going barking mad.

"Yes Mr. Stilinski?"

"I was one of those first on scene with the dead vic, and I'm feeling very emotional right now. I think I need to see Ms. Morrell."

Mr. Westover grimaced and narrowed his eyes, but there was no way he could legitimately say no to Stiles.

"Fine, Mr. Stilinski, you maybe excused."

Stiles swept all the crap from his desk into his backpack, then bounded from the room with a fierce sort of joy. He was really sorry about the kid's death, but he had more important things to do: find out _why_ he was chosen. Was it his dog? His sexual status? His...his..hair...like Lydia's swishing just ahead of him.

"We need to have a conversation now, Lydia."

Lydia twirled on her ridiculously high heels - seriously, how _did_ she stalk about the school in such tall shoes? - and faced Stiles. He was proud of himself for not falling to her well shod feet at the sight of her strawberry blonde hair billowing behind her like a romance novel heroine, while the short tight leather skirt inched up to scandalous levels. His heart, already racing from the drama of finding the murdered kid and his bouncing thoughts, picked up in speed until he feared he might stroke out or something.

"Stiles, I don't have time for your histrionics right now. I'm running late for class as it is."

"There is a serial killer going around, Alpha wolves prowling, and dead bodies turning up on school grounds, and you don't think that's a little more important than your trip into _lets forget Jackson abandoned me _ land where you bang whatever hot guy struts into your path?"

The sound of her hand cracking across his face was loud, but Stiles knew he deserved it. He was a little out of line about that last bit, even if it _was_ true. His mother had once told him if he didn't have anything nice to say, then talk about something else until the urge to say not nice things went away, but obviously he hadn't learned that lesson too well.

"Wait, Lydia, I'm sorry!" He risked life and limb by grabbing her elbow and stalling her forward march. "I'm a little stressed right now but it's no excuse for taking it out on you."

"No, you really don't Stiles. I'm not a slut!"

"I never said you were. Just, you know, not very picky."

"And that's your last chance, Stilinski."

"Hey, it's not my fault you are choosing to ban - er hang out with one of the Alpha twins!"

"What about the Alphas?"

"You know, Ethan and Aidan, twin hotties who're totally Alpha douches. Didn't Scott or Allison tell you?"

The look on Lydia's face told Stiles they hadn't, even as she sputtered an "Oh yeah, uh right, Alpha Twins."

_Fuck my life_, he thought despairingly. While it had seemed prudent last year to keep Lydia out of the loop, she'd been caught up too much in the magic and werewolf bullshit to be left out now. Stiles was going to murder Scott and look very harshly at Allison for not letting her know about the murdering psychopath she was letting into her panties.

"Just be careful, okay? We think they're sniffing around to find a way to hurt Scott."

"So Aidan came on to me because he's more interested in Scott, and not because I'm gorgeous, intelligent, and great in bed?"

"Uh, yeah, so I, um -"

"That's what I thought. Don't you _ever_ imply a guy is with me for any other reason than to have sex with me!"

"Um, okay?" Stiles shook his head a little, completely at sea on how to deal with Lydia's ego. _Change of subject, STAT!_ "I'm sure you've heard there was another body found today. And it was the dude who brought his little dog to see Dr. D the other night."

"And I'm supposed to get from that inference that you think the new cycle might be...owners with little dogs? I'm not getting rid of Prada."

"I'm not asking you to! I mean, maybe you should just, you know, let someone dog sit her for a while. Just until this blows over, ya know?"

"Stiles, I'm not really sure how much Aderall or caffeine you've consumed today, but get this. You can't make any suppositions using only one point of data; this guy is the first to show up dead and just _happens_ to own a small dog. For all you know, him owning a dog wasn't the point, but a convenient way to kidnap him."

"Yeah, it was a little weird he went to the vet's office so late at night. I mean, I didn't even know Dr. Deaton had late hours. I know he's the only vet in town -"

"No he's not. I take Prada to Dr. Sinclair over on Baker Street."

"We have another vet?"

"Stiles."

"Okay, okay, sorry. My point is, I need your help Lyds -"

"- Don't call me that."

"Lydia Martin, you are my only hope."

"Are you quoting_Star Wars_ to me?"

Stiles had to stop for a moment, awestruck at the combination of beauty, wit, and pop-culture knowledge. "Marry me."

"No."

"Date me?"

"Not gonna happen, Stiles."

"Help me?"

"You have two dead bodies -"

"Four actually."

Lydia stopped, her hand on the door. "Four?"

"The kid you found, a girl abducted from her birthday party, and some girl in the woods. The guy today made number four. And they're dying in completely ritualistic ways, three bodies per cycle and three wounds on the bodies, all types of trauma that would kill someone individually. There's something oddly familiar about the way they're dying."

"Anything magical?"

_I zoned out and became one with a tree that a dead boy was hanging from. Does that count? I'm experiencing the regeneration of an Alpha wolf as he's torn apart in battle, somehow neither of us dying or me even showing signs of something happening. I don't think that has anything to do with the bodies, but I think I might have actual magical abilities, more than what Dr. Deaton described four months ago._

_"_I don't think so?" _I don't know?_

"Then let the authorities handle them."

"Someone like my father."

"No, I mean, your _actual_ father. He's Sheriff of this town for a reason, Stiles. Let him do his job."

"But he could get hurt."

"People are _already_ getting hurt." Her voice softened, though her expression didn't. "You obviously don't think wolves are involved, otherwise you would've already said, and there's no proof of any magical signature, so why not just let someone who actually knows what they're doing take over?"

Stiles could only watch her walk away as always having the last word.

_Because I have a gut feeling this is so much worse than anything we've dealt with so far._

Suddenly his skin felt too tight and his clothes itchy. Stiles longed to tear them from his body and race nude through the woods, feeling the air against his skin even as he became one with the earth beneath his feet.

Intent on heading towards the Preserve, the long sprawling wooded area that encompassed most of the town, he nearly walked past a display of photos and candles littering the hallway. Annoyed, he glared at the collection, only registering then that it was the face of the dead boy he'd found earlier and whose name was apparently Kyle as written across the banner taped to his locker.

"How the hell did they get this together so fast?" He muttered to himself, even as he scoped out the different photos detailing the life Kyle had left behind. There were a lot of shots of him with the same blonde girl so she must be his girlfriend. _And she would know if he were a virgin or not._

A warning tingle in his bones yanked him from his contemplation of the altar to death, and he turned instinctively, just in time to see Boyd passing by.

"Vernon! Hi! Hey! When did you get back?"

The arched brow and dead pan expression was so reminiscent of Derek, Stiles almost asked if facial muscle control was inherited though the bite.

"Don't call me that. Why do you care, Stiliniski?"

"Well, you're, you know, and I'm you know."

"I'm on my way to class and you're annoying me."

"We're -" Stiles leaned in to drop his voice to a whisper, "Forces that fight in the night together."

"No, what we are, are two people standing in the hall that happen to share the same air space through no fault of my own."

There wasn't a hint of Beta Gold, yet Stiles could sense the way Boyd's skin was starting to ripple with hair as his emotions stirred the change.

"Hey, now, now calm down big guy. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to know if you knew this dude," he frantically thumbed over his shoulder at Kyle's locker. It was meant as a diversion since Beacon Hills High was large enough to house several hundred kids, and there was no way one person would know all the students.

But Boyd's expression altered from blank stone face to a shallow sense of pity. "Yeah, we were in ROTC together."

"That's great! You were friends? You know things about him."

"What I know is he's a murdered kid found this morning and we happened to belong to the same program. My only friend is dead."

"And what, Cora is chopped liver?"

Stiles winced, completely expecting a hand to shove him into the locker bay after that somewhat insensitive comment. He just seemed determined to alienate _everyone_ around him today. Probably not a good time to bring up the other wolf trapped inside the vault with him while he was incarcerated. Boyd, however, wasn't Derek, or Isaac, or even Jackson, so he just huffed angrily before stalking away.

"Good talk, Boyd!" Stiles called out before dashing down the hall in the opposite direction, towards the parking lot. Just as he was passing the Front Desk hallway, making sure to walk slowly so as not to garner attention, he noticed his dad and Tara standing in an office with a thin blonde girl. The same blonde he'd seen peppered throughout Kyle's memorial pictures posted on his locker.

It was easy to slouch down to peek through the office window though he couldn't hear anything the girl said regardless of the open door. The Sheriff casually looked over and Stiles hunkered down and turned his back to the window, hoping his dad hadn't seen him. Fortunately for him, Kyle's girlfriend exited through the door right then, and stood there for a moment trying to control her sobs.

"Ashley, hey can I ask you a question?" Stiles replicated the Sheriff's gentle if no-nonsense voice he always used when questioning upset witnesses, and was gratified when the teenager nodded. Her bright blue eyes were reddened with the strain of crying, and she visibly trembled, but she willingly stepped further down the hallway.

"This is going to sound really odd, and I apologize for asking it at a time like this, but it's important."

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I knew Kyle, we were in ROTC together."

Stiles mentally winced and apologized to the universe for his (necessary) lie.

"Oh. I don't know anything about who killed him."

"Uh, no, that's not what I need to know." Stiles drew a deep breath. "Did you – together- you know – with Kyle?"

"Huh?"

"Was Kyle a virgin?"

At least Ashley didn't put the same amount of force into her slap as Lydia. Stiles doubted his face was even red from her palm.

"Stiles Stilinski, you should be ashamed of yourself accosting this poor girl," Tara, his dad's Deputy, spat at him as she wrapped an arm around Ashley. "C'mon I'll take you home."

It was hard watching his only lead walk away and Stiles wracked his brain trying to think of how he could find out more about Kyle's background. _Was it because he was a virgin? Why did the killer take him!_

"What the hell are you doing here, Stiles?"

The furious whisper-yell broke through his increasingly chaotic thoughts, and Stiles looked up into his dad's angry face.

"Whatever you think you're doing, stop. And I mean it. I'm telling you this as your Sheriff, not as your father." He pointed at the office, where a group of men Stiles hadn't noticed stood. "That's the California FBI Liaison. We've had enough deaths here they've finally decided to send in a Task Force out of D.C. because they think we might have an actual serial killer on our hands. And I _don't_ want my teenaged son who _happens to be at every crime scene_ to get noticed by them. It wouldn't be a good thing."

"Dad, you don't think I'm _responsible _do you?"

The Sheriff sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Of course not, Stiles. I know you. I've raised you. You have an unhealthy fascination with dead things and are often strange, but it doesn't add up to serial killer. They, on the other hand, have no clue who you are really other than a kid who lurks and appears to have a lot of knowledge _he shouldn't have_ on these cases."

"I'm, I'm just trying to find the pattern."

"It's not _your_ job to do that, son."

"But, Heather -"

His dad finally eased from angry to sorrowful as if memories of his life-long friend flashed through his mind.

"Stiles, just go back to class, please, and leave this investigation up to the authorities. I promise you we'll find the sick son-of-a-bitch who took her."

He nodded, slumping his shoulders in resignation, and grabbed his stuff from the chair.

"I'll see you at home?"

"I don't know when I'll be off. With the skeleton crew and these new murders -"

Stiles held up a hand to stop the flow of words. Ever since Kanima-Jackson killed nearly the entire Sheriff's department, the remaining few who were lucky enough to have that night off were working overtime to make up the lack despite having help from nearby Butte County.

"I'll leave food in the fridge for you."

"You're a good kid, Stiles. Don't ever think I don't know that."

Lying to his dad was becoming harder and harder, especially since Stiles had knowledge the Sheriff didn't, and he could help close this case a lot quicker than the FBI Task Force. In fact, having even more strangers tramping around their town would probably do more harm than good because the forces at work here wouldn't play nicely.

The ride to his house was fraught with tension as he kept glancing in the mirrors, hoping not to spot any department cars or any wolves. His nerves couldn't take another confrontation with anyone right now.

Clopping upstairs, Stiles threw his book bag in the corner, and went to his knees in his closet as he pushed aside dirty clothes so he could pull out the steamer trunk his mother brought when she emigrated to America.

Upon first glance, it looked like it only housed his old comic books and various toy models, but beneath it all was a false bottom that stored stuff he truly wanted to keep hidden. Before the bite, Stiles stored what little print porn he had, but since then, it became the cubby hole to store all his esoteric materials and magical aides.

When Dr. Deaton had first started training him, Stiles had received a few books rife with spells and recipes he was expected to memorize. He was explicitly told _not_ to photo-copy the material, which Stiles didn't. Instead, he painstakingly rewrote each one in a separate journal he bought just for it; but even more prized than his spell book, were the xeroxed copies of the Argent Bestiary. Before they slipped the USB back to Gerard, Stiles had made sure to duplicate it on his own USB stick, and later downloaded the pages. While he had great faith in technology, he also figured it would be handy to have physical copy he could add his _own_ notes to. It didn't seem too far-fetched to eventually write a companion copy meant just for werewolf use.

He scanned through the pages, not sure what he was looking for, but knew it was information he had read before that stuck in his head. Wiki and Google were great and all, but he had to wade through crap to find even a _glimmer_ of relevant data, and even then he couldn't be sure if it was even true or not.

It was then, his mind spinning, that his eyes caught on a significant chapter header.

_Druids._

* * *

**A/N: You may or may not have noticed that I sort of played with Stiles' timeline during the day. I felt it was more impactful if he ran into Lydia and Boyd prior to his talk with Ashley and his dad, a more natural progression to him leaving school to see Deaton. It just seemed strange to me that he would be content to go through his day with all the questions and theories floating in his head. So...I took artistic license and arranged it to my liking.**


End file.
